


It Must Be So Funny

by JayKath, Kinkatia



Series: So Funny [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 58,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayKath/pseuds/JayKath, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinkatia/pseuds/Kinkatia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty decided to get a flatmate.</p><p>Sebastian Morán decided he wanted to tempt fate.</p><p>Turns out, they were a match made in hell.</p><p>(Written mainly by Kinkatia, with contributions by JayKath.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by ["Jim Moriarty's Live-In Application"](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/11226) by Jess (the-hedgehog-of-baskerville). 



> Special thanks and enormous love to JayKath, who knows the difference between 'who' and 'whom' and keeps my sentences from being too terribly awkward. Extra love to Addi, who asked me to write some MorMor and convinced me that writing smut is an excellent writing exercise. (He was right, as always.)
> 
> The application is not of my creation. See the inspiration work, and go enjoy its beauty.

If there was ever a thing Jim Moriarty was best at, it was surprises. He was full of them, from his taste for the Bee Gees to his insanity and his skill at Angry Birds. Even his only weakness ( _“I’m_ so _changeable!”_ ) was surprising. So of course it came as a surprise to everyone under his employ when he circulated applications for a “live-in ordinary person.” The only person who could have seen this coming was Sherlock Holmes, the man who had been in attendance when the idea presented itself, but given the circumstances and general passive-aggressive tone of that conversation, Sherlock had no reason to believe Jim was serious about it. 

Nonetheless, Jim Moriarty was seeking an ordinary person to share his flat. It surprised his assistants because no one had ever been allowed to know his address: his assistants had only his mobile number and email address to contact him by. It surprised his snipers and hitmen because Jim had many enemies on his payroll who might try to take advantage of living with him in order to, well, maim, torture and kill him. It surprised his foreign contacts because someone with that much access to Jim would logically try to take over his criminal enterprise. It surprised his various scientists and specialists because they couldn’t think of a single reason anyone would want to live with him. And it surprised his brother because Jim had never liked to share.

The applications arrived in the usual way correspondence was delivered to each person: mostly by courier, three through the actual post, fourteen by email, two by carrier pigeon, and one hidden inside a bag of crisps. Each was printed on expensive, unbleached paper and came with a note. The note had been handwritten on a post-it and photocopied. It read as follows: Please consider seriously whether or not you are right for this position. You are not required to apply, and no action will be taken against you if you refrain. Interested parties should return completed applications to Karen. (Or Daniel, or Heather, or Genevieve, depending on which sector of the network they were in. Obviously Karen, Daniel, Heather and Genevieve were instructed to return applications to Jim himself.) The application was a single page with an enthusiastic handwritten header (Jim Moriarty’s Live-In Application). There was a note in the upper right corner (Boring people need not apply. Marksmanship a requirement.), and a space for name and age. Contact information was, obviously, unnecessary. Next followed a series of yes or no questions enquiring about military experience, smoking habits, allergies, opinion on the Bee Gees, squeamishness, diet and opinion on Sherlock Holmes. Despite possessing two boxes, neither of the opinion questions had a choice of answer (yes to the Bee Gees, no to Sherlock, obviously). Then there was a list of duties (Turning people into shoes, baking gingerbread men, kidnapping John Watson and doing the laundry among them.) and a general disclaimer that Jim would definitely not care about his live-in or go out of his way to help them if their stupidity got them into trouble. Finally were some choices: preferred weapon, to be provided upon commencement of live-in status (M110 SASS, .388 Lapua Magnum, SVT-40, or Heckler + Koch PSG1) and preferred pet name (choices were, in keeping with Moriarty’s character, honey, baby, sweetheart, Tiger, love, and dear). 

For the first week, not a single application was returned. Jim wasn’t surprised. He knew that the people who had received them would be hesitant, thinking things over. No one trusted him, and they were bound to think it was some sort of trick, some game that they could only lose if they chose to play. They were right, of course, but he wouldn’t tell them that. At the end of the week, things started moving. Two people, both mercenaries he’d contracted several times in the past, decided what the hell and applied. Genevieve, who had always fancied Jim, sent hers in three days later. The following days consisted of a dozen or so employees passing around the applications, convinced it was a joke, and their contacts considering whether it’d be worth it to try. By the end of the second week, Jim had received two more applications, one from an explosives technician and the other from a marine biologist.

Five completed applications. The explosives technician was obviously hoping for better access to illegal materials through a connection with the infamous Moriarty. One of the mercenaries wanted better pay, and seemed to think he’d be able to negotiate a raise if he knew where Jim slept. Genevieve just wanted to get him into bed. He’d really have to think about replacing her soon, before her affections became problematic. The other mercenary wanted to kill him, and the marine biologist was interesting, but clearly a government spy. Which government was uncertain, which made her very tempting, but she had refrained from answering the Bee Gees question, indicating a distaste for their music. That simply wouldn’t do. No, that wouldn’t do at all. 

Jim sighed. This little game was not getting off to the start he’d hoped for. As much fun as it would be to tease a spy or outwit an assassin, he didn’t really want that much excitement in his home life. His flat was where he took time to himself, to unwind and listen to music or indulge in pointless activities like playing Angry Birds and reading ancient manuscripts. If he had to be on his guard at home, he’d end up very cranky, very quickly. The point of getting a live-in was to add some humor to his free time, not to keep him on his guard twenty four hours a day. 

His moping was interrupted by the whir of his fax machine. He watched with interest as it spit out a single sheet of paper and nothing more. He jumped from his chair and waltzed over to take a look. Just as he suspected, it was another application. He took it with him and dropped onto the sofa, shifting on the red velvet until he was comfortable, lying flat on his back with his feet elevated on the arm. The name on the application was Sebastian Morán, scrawled in a simple blocky print that forewent the use of uppercase letters. Jim remembered the man: a sniper whom he’d hired several times. Spoke with a slight accent that was hard to trace, but likely Spanish. Skilled. Quiet. Six centimeters taller than Jim was, slim but muscular. Dark, wavy hair that reminded Jim just a touch of Sherlock. 

Jim had never found the man to be very interesting. He would have discarded the application just from the name if he weren’t so desperate. The notes scribbled across the blank spaces of the application helped, being of mild interest. First and foremost, Morán had underlined the marksmanship requirement, and written underneath it, “the best. will shoot anyone who disagrees.” Well. The man was confident in his skills. Jim gave him a point for that.

Morán indicated military experience. Jim hadn’t actually known that about him. Also indicated was an allergy to ethics. Jim snickered at that. Morán had drawn an extra box for his opinion on the Bee Gees, labeling it “indifferent” and firmly placing an x inside it. Indifferent wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t a deal-breaker. He was neither squeamish nor a vegetarian. Both “no” boxes for “Do you like Sherlock Holmes?” were crossed off, with a note to the side which read, “willing to dislike anyone.” 

He’d also left interesting notes alongside some of the duties listed. Shooting boring people was apparently his hobby, his mum’s gingerbread recipe to die for, and he wanted to know if kidnapping John Watson included getting to play with him. Jim grinned. Sebastian Morán had unknown depths to him, hiding under his quiet exterior. Not surprising was the fact that Morán’s chosen pet name was Tiger, but he did call all of the weapon choices boring. A man after Jim’s own heart. 

Most interesting of all, however, was the note at the bottom of the application. “you’ll find all other applicants have been rather impressively assassinated.”

Jim plucked his mobile from his trouser pocket and speed-dialed Karen. She answered on the first ring. “Sweetheart,” Jim said, “I need you to check on the status of the live-in applicants. All but the most recent one, Morán.”

“Right away, sir,” she chirped. He could hear the sound of her fingers racing over her keyboard as she pulled up and cross-referenced the relevant information. A moment later, she had what she was looking for. “Toby Barrow, mercenary. Found dead in his penthouse flat two days ago. Shot to the head, right between the eyes. Bullet came from outside, but the nearest building of an appropriate height is half a kilometer away. No suspects.”

Jim felt excitement stirring in his gut. Karen went on, “Harold Taylor, mercenary. Bullet between the eyes while dancing in a club last night. No other casualties. No suspects. Genevieve White, one of your other assistants.” Karen’s voice did not waver as she relayed her colleague’s fate. “Shot through the heart as she was entering a Tube station during rush hour this morning. No other casualties. No suspects.” Oh, this was getting good. “Eli Svesky, explosives technician. Bullet to the right temple three days ago while riding a bus from Heathrow to Oxford. He was sitting alone at the back. Apparently no one noticed he was dead at first. No suspects.” This was good, Jim decided. Very good. Just one left. “Naomi Trish, marine biologist. This one’s still alive, sir.” Jim sighed. Disappointed. Of course the one that Morán couldn’t take care of was the interesting government— “Wait, just one moment. She’s just now been killed. Single shot between the eyes inside a secure military base.”

He couldn’t help it. Jim laughed. “Karen, sweetheart,” he giggled, “Find me someone competent to replace Genevieve, will you? And don’t send me anymore applications. I’ve found the one.”

“Of course, sir. Have a nice day.”

Jim ended the call and waited for his laughter to subside. He didn’t know why Morán wanted to live with him. He didn’t care. All that mattered was that he did want to, and Morán had just demonstrated that he was the kind of man who took what he wanted. That sort of initiative was something Jim could respect, and which would make this live-in experiment all the more interesting. When he’d caught his breath, he dialed Morán's number from memory.

It rang three times. Then, “Morán. Talk.” Short and to the point. Promising. Also incredibly gutsy, considering he was hiding out in or near a military base where he’d just assassinated someone, and he was answering his phone. 

“It’s your lucky day, Tiger,” Jim purred into the phone. “Pack your bags, you move in tomorrow.”

 


	2. Day One: The Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my amazing betas, Addi and Jay. They are full of amazing.

Jim was excited. Really, truly, unabashedly excited. He hadn’t shared a living space since before he went to University, but that didn’t bother him at all. He didn’t have to play at being a compromising flatmate. Morán knew him, and despite knowing him, had insisted on being his live-in, doing so in the most daring way possible. He’d be here with the movers that Jim had hired for him. Discreet folk, foreigners without work visas who knew better than to talk and who wouldn’t be missed when Jim had them killed. Morán would arrive, they’d find some place to put his things, and the experiment would begin. 

Should he make tea? No, having tea waiting was the kind of thing enemies did when they were being passive-aggressive and pretending it was civility. Impressions of veiled threats would be the wrong approach to this particular situation. He walked through the rooms of his flat, inspecting everything one last time. All was neat and tidy. Jim liked it kept that way, as much as he loathed cleaning. He hoped Morán was a fast learner, so he could take over the chores quickly. Most of the chores, at least. Jim wasn’t about to saddle his favorite sniper with so many domestic duties that he hadn’t enough time to make himself properly useful.

The buzzer rang and Jim practically jumped with excitement. He hurried to the intercom and pressed the talk button. “Yes?”

“It’s Morán.” Jim took a moment to mentally verify the voice. Then, confident that the right man had arrived, he allowed a slow grin spread over his face.

“We’re in 5a,” he replied. “Come on up, Tiger.” He pushed the button to open the door for his new flatmate, and sat down on the sofa to wait.

Minutes later, there was a sharp rapping on the flat door—two knocks in measured succession—and then it swung inward without hesitation. Jim twisted around curiously. Morán stepped over the threshold with a sturdy pack, obviously filled to capacity, strapped to his back.He carried a duffel bag is his right hand, and a hard black case in his left—obviously a gun case, though curiously, it had a keychain attached to it, some sort of small book. Morán nodded curtlyat Jim and deposited his bags against the wall just inside the door. He then carefully wormed his way out of his pack. Jim caught sight of a collapsible army cot lashed to the pack and frowned. Morán slept on one of those? It was the least comfortable kind of bed. Morán must move around a lot to justify the discomfort. Jim knew he could never do it.

Once that was inside, Morán firmly shut and bolted the door. “Where are Franny and Victor?” Jim asked.

Morán met his gaze calmly. “The movers?” His voice had a softness to it, and he spoke with a very faint accent indigenous to the northern reaches of Spain. “They’re dead in an alley half a mile away. You shouldn’t have bothered with them. I can’t have too many people knowing where that flat is. I might need it again.” He cast his gaze around the room, evaluating. 

Jim watched him, cataloguing every movement, every minute change in expression. Morán seemed impressed—but not surprised—by the expensive furnishings and valuable paintings which adorned the walls. “I was going to have them taken care of anyway,” Jim said. “Can’t have them knowing where _I_ live, now, can we?”

Morán found the bedroom door and nodded towards it. “Bedroom in there?” he asked. Jim nodded, and Morán unstrapped his cot from his pack and carried it across the sitting room and into the darkened bedroom. 

Jim felt a sudden surge of panic. For all his genius, he hadn’t actually thought this far ahead. He lived in a one bedroom flat. He obviously didn’t want that ugly army cot set up in the open, where he’d have to look at it all the time, but neither was he especiallykeen on sharing a bedroom. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable sleeping near a seasoned killer, or even someone he didn’t know very well. He simply found the idea of sharing _his space_ completely appalling. What if Morán snored? Jim was an extremely light sleeper, a side effect of years working deep within the criminal underworld. When you made enemies, you learned to watch your back, and that was that.

But where else did he expect Morán to sleep? Certainly not on the sofa. He’d probably drool on the velvet. So Jim stayed where he was and kept his protests confined to the inside of his own head as Morán made himself at home. Because this was his home now. It was an odd concept for Jim, his flat being “home” for someone else. It had always been _his_ home. But now it was _theirs_. He couldn’t decide if it was novel or abhorrent. He supposed he’d come to a decision soon enough. 

The sounds of metal on metal floated from the bedroom. Morán was assembling his cot. Jim could imagine where he was putting it. The wall opposite the window, underneath his ancient Chinese etching, which had been stolen years ago from a museum in Prague. That span of wall was the only one with nothing against it on floor level. It would leave just enough space between the cot and Jim’s bed for someone to walk. Jim considered rearranging his furniture. The risk of sleeping against a window might be worth it for a few more feet of space.

Morán finished quickly. He returned to the sitting room and moved his bags to the bedroom, then re-emerged and started looking through cabinets in the kitchen. “I’m going to need a drawer, either in the dresser or a nightstand,” he said casually. “There’s no space for another dresser, and I only need one drawer.”

Jim blinked at him. He worked his jaw, as if about to speak, but unable to find the words he wanted to say. What was happening? How could anyone, knowing full well who he was, be instantly comfortable and demanding like that? Though he may have picked Morán to be his live-in ordinary person, he never intended for this to be like a normal flat share. There were rules, and Moriarty made them. Morán should have been asking permission, not making demands as if he were perfectly entitled to do so. 

Morán set the kettle on, located the tea things, and arranged everything on the counter to be ready when the water boiled. Then he came into the sitting room and sat on the side of the sectional that Jim wasn’t currently occupying. He took a long look at Jim’s face, then nodded seriously. “We’ll have to go over rules. We both want this arrangement to work, after all.”

Jim nodded, took a moment to mentally flip through all his complaints thus far, and looked pointedly at Morán’s feet. “To start with, shoes.”

Morán lifted an eyebrow. “No shoes in the flat?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t track filth from the city’s streets all over the carpet,” Jim said dryly, gesturing at the plush white fibers which already bore slight traces of Morán’s movements.

Morán nodded. “Right.” He immediately unlaced his boots and slid his feet out of them. Then he got up and carried them to the door, placing them neatly on the mat next to Jim’s own shoes. They made an interesting contrast, dirtied and scuffed combat boots next to polished black leather shoes imported from Italy. He returned to the sofa and sat leaning forward, with his forearms resting on his thighs. “The way I see it,” he said conversationally, “you’re not used to living with someone else. I’m sure this is some experiment for you. That’s fine. I don’t mind, so long as you don’t poison me or anything. The only things I expect from you are to let me know when I’m on a job and to not shout at me while we’re here. We can share the cleaning and leave each other mostly alone, if that’s what you want.”

Jim nodded slowly. “Morán,” he said.

“Sebastian,” Morán corrected. “We live together now. We can be on a first name basis when we’re not working, can’t we, Jim?” He smiled, though it was teasing, not genuine. 

“Of course,” Jim conceded. “Sebastian, I’m curious. Why are you here? You obviously wanted to be my live-in, but I haven’t been able to figure out why.”

The kettle boiled. Sebastian got to his feet and strolled to the kitchen. “How do you take your tea?” he asked over his shoulder.

“A touch of milk, one sugar, and a dash of cinnamon,” he answered, pouting at having been interrupted by the kettle. He huffed and settled back into the cushions to wait. 

Sebastian returned shortly. The aroma of freshly brewed tea and cinnamon followed him. “Never took you for a cinnamon fella,” Morán said as he handed Jim his cup. He sipped it and nodded appreciatively. Sebastian had done a good job.

“I’m full of surprises,” he remarked. “Now, tell me, why are you here?”

“Well,” Sebastian said thoughtfully, “You probably know that I move around a lot. Makes it hard for my enemies to find me. My safe houses may have been compromised in the last month. Until I figure out who knows what, and take care of the situation, I need a safe place to sleep. Can’t think of any place more secure to hide out than in Jim Moriarty’s flat.”

The corners of Jim’s mouth twitched upward in an amused smile. “You’re here for safety, then? Bold of you, I must say.”

Sebastian shrugged. “I saw an opportunity and took it. Relying on your security is a lot less hassle than working my own.”

“An opportunist, then,” Jim mused. “But how do you know I’ll let you live once you leave?” 

Sebastian hummed and took a slow sip of his tea, savoring the flavor. He looked up from his cup to meet Jim’s eyes, holding his gaze for a long moment. Finally, when Jim was starting to get impatient, he shrugged. “Then maybe I won’t leave.” There was a strange conclusive note in the statement. Jim couldn’t decipher what it meant. Interesting. . .  

 

* * *

 

That night Sebastian cooked dinner, managing to find the ingredients for a hearty paella in the kitchen. “You really need to expand your selection of spices,” he remarked. “You’ve got plenty of variety here, but nothing with any bite.”

“Feel free to add whatever you like,” Jim replied distractedly. He was sitting at the desk in the corner by the door with his laptop open, reading emails and typing furiously. “Did you have to kill my assistant, Sebastian?” he whined. “It’s such a bother to screen replacements. Half of them are plants and spies. Not even particularly creative ones.”

“You’d have had to replace her eventually,” Sebastian said. 

“Yes, but I could have had her find her own replacement. Karen is rubbish at rooting out double agents, and Daniel and Heather can’t be trusted with anything more complicated than communications and scheduling.” He sent off a flurry of emails and shut the computer with a loud sigh. Sebastian was still busy in the kitchen. Jim hesitated for a moment, then padded quietly into the bedroom. 

He hadn’t been in there since Sebastian arrived several hours earlier. To tell the truth, he was still a bit nervous about the whole arrangement. Not his brightest moment, he must admit, but to be fair, he _was_ busy planning Sherlock’s demise. He could excuse himself for the lack of foresight. 

Jim had been right about where Sebastian assembled his cot. It looked out of place amidst the polished, antique bedroom furniture (matching nightstand, dresser, and wardrobe) and plush queen-sized bed with its navy blue Egyptian cotton sheets. The monstrosity was tucked against the right-hand wall under the etching, and all of Sebastian’s bags were settled on or under it, like a tiny foreign island in a sea of the familiar. Jim hesitated, then went to the nightstand and opened the bottom drawer. He’d never kept much in it, only a few books and a spare handgun. He moved the gun into the top drawer and stacked the books on top of the nightstand next to the cylindrical lamp. Such a little change, and that was all that Sebastian had asked. It wasn’t the giving up of space that bothered him, Jim reflected. It was the way Sebastian had expected it. It was the loss of power, of control. In the end, it wasn’t about the drawer at all. Jim just didn’t like to give. He hated to give in, give up, or give ground. He was selfish by nature, but if he was to get the most enjoyment out of this little experiment, he’d definitely have to reign in his nature a little bit.

That decided, he cast another glance around the room. If he moved the dresser next to the bathroom door, he could put the nightstand in its place and slide the bed against the wall, under the window. That would give him some more space of his own, separate him from Sebastian while they slept. It would look terrible, but if it became necessary, he had the option. With that in mind, he strode from the bedroom, through the sitting room, and into the kitchen, where Sebastian had just finished cooking and was dishing paella out onto two gleaming white plates. 

“The bottom drawer in the nightstand is yours,” Jim told him. 

Sebastian nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He handed Jim a full plate and stepped around him to the table, still carrying his own.

Jim paused for just a moment to consider Sebastian’s words. Appreciation wasn’t something he was accustomed to receiving, though when it did happen it was always in the line of work. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, and decided it was best thought about later. He set his dinner on the table across from Sebastian, and walked to the fridge. “Do you like red wine?” he asked as he reached inside and removed a bottle with a black label. “I usually have some in the evening with my meal.”

“Wine’s good,” Sebastian said. “Though I’m more of a whisky man, myself.”

Jim removed two wine glasses from the cupboard above the sink and filled them. Sebastian accepted his with a small incline of his head. They ate in silence, studying each other. Jim was certain his discomfort didn’t show. It never did, unless he wanted it to. He was more concerned with Sebastian’s apparent ease. No one in their right mind, knowing who they were moving in with, would be so comfortable in Jim’s presence. Sebastian finished the food on his plate and rose to get seconds. That’s when Jim saw it. The set of Sebastian’s shoulders wasn’t quite relaxed: not tense, but ready for action. Prepared to move at a moment’s notice. It was a sure sign of someone with reflexes honed by constant, life-threatening danger. Sebastian, despite the easy way he was settling in, was still on guard. Jim allowed himself a smile. It was good to know he unsettled his new pet. That was as it should be. 

 

* * *

 

Whenever he could be, Jim was early to bed. Despite the late nights dealing with criminals, he was more of an early bird than a night owl. He did his best thinking as the sun was rising over the horizon, its warming light slithering between London’s buildings. So as curious as he was about Sebastian’s habits, he decided to save the studying for another time and stick to his night-off routine, leaving Sebastian watching the evening news in the sitting room to slip through the bedroom into the bathroom.

Hot shower and evening hygiene routine completed, Jim dressed in his pyjamas—deep purple silk, imported from China—and slid in between his sheets. He could still hear the telly in the other room, but Sebastian had turned the volume down so that only a quiet murmur crept through the door. Jim settled in, starting to relax, only to realize that his preferred side of the bed was the side closest to Sebastian’s cot. He rolled his eyes and shifted to the other side. Within fifteen minutes, he was in the first stages of sleep and quickly descending into the deeper, more refreshing ones.

He didn’t stir when Sebastian turned off the television and slipped into the darkened room. 


	3. Day Two: Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra love to JaylanKath for all her hard work on this chapter, which let me do the editing in twenty minutes tonight when I realized I'd forgotten to post yesterday.

Sebastian awoke the instant Jim stirred in the morning. He remained relaxed, feigning sleep in the hope that it would become real. He listened as Jim got out of bed and stood still a while. Likely observing him. He wished he could see Jim’s face, to know what he was thinking. It was a gamble to live here with the world’s most dangerous man, a gamble with higher stakes than any Sebastian had ever played for. Jim could be regarding him with idle curiosity—or planning new and interesting ways to kill him. The excitement at the thought of pitting himself against Jim’s intellect threatened to give him away, and he forced it to the back of his mind. 

After a few moments, Jim walked around the bed, slipped past Sebastian’s cot and rummaged around in the dresser. Then he disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water lulled Sebastian into a pleasant half-asleep state that he hadn’t allowed himself to indulge in since before he joined the army. Just as he thought he might get back to sleep, Jim exited the bathroom and swept out of the bedroom, the squeak of the hingessetting Sebastian’s senses on the alert. He groaned quietly and gave up. Of course Jim would get up—What time was it? He glanced at his wristwatch and rolled his eyes— at bloody five o’clock in the morning. 

With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself upright and blinked blearily at the room. Jim’s bed was made so neatly Sebastian wouldn’t have known he’d slept in it if he hadn’t seen it himself. Jim sleeping was, thus far, the thing that had struck Sebastian the most since he arrived the day before. When the man was awake, his every expression and move was calculated to give as little away as possible. It made him seem dangerous. But when he was curled on his side under his posh bedsheets, sound asleep, all his defenses were down. When he wasn’t harshly analyzing everyone and everything around him, Jim’s features had a surprising softness to them, accentuated by the way his hair had driedin spikes, sticking up at all angles. Sebastian had found himself wanting to smooth them out, run his fingers through that dark hair. He’d quickly realized the direction his thoughts were heading and shut them down, then climbed into his cot and turned his back to Jim’s bed. 

The door to the corridor opened and closed with a click, signaling Jim’s exit. Sebastian shook his head to clear it of last night’s wayward thoughts and got to his feet. He needed to shower, and then unpack. And maybe go to the shops and pick up a few spices. It would be a leisurely day, at the very least, with no contracts out and Jim off towho knows where. 

 

* * *

 

Sebastian had unpacked his xbox, hooked it up to Jim’s flat-screen television in the corner, and only then realized that Jim hadn’t given him the password to the wifi. He wanted to teach some teens a lesson or two about properly using cover in Halo 3, but without that password, he couldn’t access Live. He’d texted Jim, asking for it, but received no response. So he was in the middle of a new campaign in Halo 3, blasting aliens in the jungle, when the door clicked open. 

Sebastian paused the game immediately and twisted around. Jim crossed the threshold, in. . . Not his usual apparel. Instead of a suit and expensive shoes with his hair slicked back, Jim walked into the flat wearing white, scuffed up tennis shoes, blue jeans, and a light blue button down shirt. His hair had a slightly tousled look to it, and he had just a hint of stubble on his chin, as if he hadn’t shaved as closely as he normally did. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him. Jim rolled his eyes and let his shoulders sink. “I had an audition,” he explained, bending down to unlace his shoes. 

The “civilian” look would have suited him if not for the analytical and very reptilian expression on his face as he took in the scene in his sitting room. No, he’d look better in his Westwood. It fit him well, both his personality and his physique. The posh look was his camouflage. He was a hunter, hiding in plain sight. He was likely hiding a good deal of muscle under the expensive fabrics, prepared to strike should he ever need to, but inspiring fear and a sense of power without having to make crude displays of might. Jim’s shoulders were probably well-toned, and his abs–

Oh god. Sebastian put the brakes on that line of thought. Yes, fine, he’d admit it to himself, Jim was definitely an attractive specimen. Short and saucy was Sebastian’s type. But this was Jim Moriarty. His boss, his flatmate, a genuine psychopath, and the most dangerous man in the world, as far as Sebastian was concerned. The thought only served to make Jim more attractive. But no. Absolutely not. Jim was not someone to get involved with by any means, and Sebastian was not going to be an idiot. He made a face and turned back to his game.

“What?”

Jim had seen his expression. Sebastian wasn’t sure if he was mortified, or relieved that Jim hadn’t already put two and two together. _That_ would be a pain to explain. “What did you mean, an audition?” he asked in an attempt to change the subject.

“Good alibis take time to build,” Jim answered. He stepped out of his shoes, walked around the sofa and lowered himself onto the cushion next to Sebastian, leaning back into the sectional’s corner. He nodded at the television. “What’s this, then?”

Sebastian unpaused the game and resumed blasting aliens. “Halo 3. It’s not the most realistic FPS, but I enjoy it.”

For a few minutes, Jim just watched him play, a frown slowly forming on his face. “You waste your time on this?”

“Don’t you play any games?” Sebastian asked curiously.

Jim snorted with derision. “Of course not. Pointless, idiotic distraction. I have more interesting things to do.”

“This isn’t usually so dull. I normally play online against other people, but I don’t have the wifi password.”

The hint was apparently received loud and clear. Jim shifted against the velvet with a smirk. “Then I hope you figure it out soon.” 

Sebastian paused the game and regarded Jim carefully. “You’re going to make me guess it.”

“Good luck, Tiger. You’re gonna need it,” he singsonged.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Challenge accepted,” he said coolly, then turned back to his game.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, Sebastian left to go to the shops. He had asked if Jim wanted anything, but hadn’t been given an answer. Thinking nothing of it, he’d shrugged it off and gone ahead, his own shopping list forming in his head. An hour later, he opened the door to the flat and stopped short in surprise as his senses were assaulted. The cheerful sounds of the Bee Gees filled his ears as the mouth-watering aromas of rice, chicken, and a plethora of spices met his nose. To top it off, Jim was sashaying gracefully into the kitchen from the direction of his desk, where his computer sat, blaring out the music, which Sebastian definitely hadn’t heard from the hall. Of course Jim would have a soundproof door. It shouldn’t be that astonishing. Sebastian took a moment to reign in his surprise, then stepped inside and closed the door behind him, the lock clicking into place automatically. He set down the bags and took off his boots.

“Oh, you’re back,” Jim said disinterestedly as he stirred something in a wok on the stove. 

“That smells fantastic,” Sebastian said. He put his shopping on the kitchen table and peered at what Jim was making. It appeared to be some sort of chicken dish, with asparagus and red bell peppers. There was a small rice cooker on the counter next to the stove, bubbling away. There didn’t appear to be enough for two people. “I take it you’re not sharing?”

“I don’t share,” Jim answered. 

 _‘Like you’re sharing your flat?’_ Sebastian thought, amused. Aloud, he said, “Alright,” and began putting his purchases away while Jim swayed to the music and tended his food. Spices went in the cabinet above and to the right of the stove, vegetables and meat into the refrigerator. Jim made a face of disgust as he took the bottle of whiskey from a bag. “If you’re going to drink that foul liquor, at least buy a higher quality brand.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not your business what I choose to drink,” Sebastian told him. 

Jim rolled his eyes and turned back to the food. “You can make something for yourself when I’m done.”

“Fine with me.” Sebastian binned the plastic bags and went into the living room. There was no way he’d be able to watch telly with the music blaring, and he didn’t feel like testing Jim’s limits at the moment by asking him to turn it off. He got the distinct feeling that when Jim was in a music mood, he was going to have his music. It was a shame he didn’t have the wifi password; the music would make the perfect background soundtrack for trolling other players in Call of Duty. 

Sebastian glanced at the computer. A thought struck him. The computer was on, open, and the screensaver hadn’t come up since Jim had last fiddled with it. The wifi password would be stored in the program used to set up the network. He looked over his shoulder at Jim, and was pleased to see him completely absorbed in cooking. Four more steps took him over to the desk. Despite not owning a computer, Sebastian knew how to use one better than the average person. It was a necessary skill for an assassin who often needed to track down his targets before ending them. It took him only a minute to locate and open the program. The password was, unsurprisingly, a sequence of seemingly random letters and numbers. Sebastian grabbed a pen out of the jar on the desk and jotted it down onto his palm. A moment later and he’d closed the program. He was about to leave and start his game when he got a mischievous idea. Jim was still absorbed in cooking, washing something at the sink now, with his back to the rest of the flat. Sebastian took a screengrab of the desktop, hid all the shortcuts to files and programs, and set the screengrab to the desktop background. A moment later, he was hopping over the back of the sofa and powering on the Xbox. 

Fifteen minutes later, Sebastian was deep in a game of Call of Duty, listening to the other players complain about the music coming through his headset andclaiming that the annoying sound definitely wasn’t coming from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jim leave the kitchen and head toward the desk. A few moments later, he heard Jim’s frustrated “What?” and had to force himself to not smile. The gleeful expression threatened to show itself, however, when Jim stalked around the sofa and stood to the side, between the couch and the telly, looking intently at Sebastian’s game and then at Sebastian himself, dark eyes easily taking in the other players on the screen and the headset. “How’d you get the password?” he asked.

Sebastian couldn’t help it. He grinned. “Took advantage of an opening in your defenses,” he said. “You should really be more careful.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Sebastian felt his heart rate pick up, reveled in the rise of adrenaline. He had absolutely no idea what Jim would do, and it completely thrilled him. He kept his eyes on his game, waiting for Jim to make his move. When it came, he was taken completely by surprise. 

“Well played,” Jim purred, the corners of his mouth curling upward slightly. “Well played indeed.” Without another word, he turned and went back to the kitchen. Sebastian peered after him curiously, wondering what the hell had just happened and trying to convince himself he wasn’t staring at Jim’s arse. 


	4. Day Three: Button Pushing

“Daniel, have you heard from the agency yet?” Jim leaned back into the corner of the sectional and crossed one leg over the other. One arm was draped along the back of the cushions, the other—his left—holding his mobile to his ear. 

“Yes, sir. They called yesterday evening, and would like you to come back for another read through,” Daniel reported. “They’ve sent along a script for a children’s programme that should air starting this fall, and want you to read for the leading role.”

Jim grinned. “Good, good. Have a copy couriered to the usual place. I think I fancy an afternoon stroll today.”

“I’ll see it’s done, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Nope!” Jim didn’t wait for a response before ending the call. Things were progressing well. He could easily get the role if he pulled a few strings—there were at least three BBC executives on whom he had life-ruining blackmail—but he was going up against Sherlock Holmes. The plan was still in the process of formation, and absolutely anything could happen. It was best to go about solidifying his alibi and alias the old-fashioned way, just in case. 

The bedroom door opened, and Sebastian shuffled out, hair dripping and clad only in a white towel. One of Jim’s towels. Jim narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “That’s mine,” he said.

Sebastian glanced at him before trudging past into the kitchen. Jim swept his eyes over Sebastian’s form, greedily cataloguing all the details. Especially the scars. Sebastian was covered in them: knife wound along the left ribcage; five cigarette burns in the center of his chest; another knife wound on the right side, below the ribs; and a long, jagged scar down the back of his right calf. Jim hummed appreciatively and wondered how Sebastian had gotten them. Scars always told such interesting stories. They were the evidence of something survived. That made them sexy as hell.  

“Mine needs laundering,” Sebastian said. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

Jim scowled. “And what if I do? I did tell you yesterday that I don’t share.”

“Tough luck.” Sebastian opened the fridge and pulled out the milk, then went into the cabinet for a cup. Jim watched, annoyed, as he poured himself a glass.

“That’s mine, too,” he pointed out.

Sebastian put the milk away and took a deep drink of it. “Didn’t seem to mind so much yesterday when I used it for lunch.”

“That’s different. You were cooking for me.”

“I was cooking for us. Besides, it’s pointless to have two jugs of milk. I’ll buy the next one.” He carried his glass into the sitting room and set it on the coffee table before settling down on the sofa. Now that he was closer, Jim had a better look at his scars. Jim was curious, and thought about asking, but the annoyance of the milk glass distracted him.

“Oh, for god’s sake, do use a coaster,” Jim snapped. “You’ll put a ring on the wood.”

Sebastian ignored him in favor of the remote. He switched on the television and turned to the morning news. Jim let out a well-rehearsed long-suffering sigh and leaned forward to place Sebastian’s glass on a coaster. “I’ll carve your heart out with a spoon if you do that again,” he said conversationally.

“I’d like to see you try,” Sebastian said without looking away from the television.

Jim raised an eyebrow as he leaned back into the cushions. “Is that a challenge?” 

“What do you think?” Sebastian asked, turning to look at Jim. 

Jim studied him carefully. “I think you’re confident you’d be able to overpower me if I tried,” he said. “I also think you’re greatly underestimating me.” Sebastian shrugged minutely. Jim saw it. “And you’re not afraid to have that put to the test.” Curious.

“ _Correcto,_ ” Sebastian said cheerily, a slight smile tugging at the side of his mouth. “I’m impressed. Very astute of you, Jim-boy. There may be hope for us after all.”

Jim glared. Sebastian was mocking him. He didn’t take Jim seriously at all. This was completely unacceptable. Jim would have to think of some way to get back at him. But not now. No, he wanted to plan this out so he could savor it. For now, however, there was the matter of Jim’s things. “I’d still prefer if you didn’t use my towel,” he said.

Sebastian’s face crinkled with silent laughter. “I’ll take it off, but do you really want me sitting on your sofa naked?”

No, Jim absolutely did not want Sebastian sitting naked on his sofa. It wasn’t the idea of Sebastian naked that was bothersome. No, from what Jim could see—which was _quite_ a lot—Sebastian had a well-toned physique that made no secret of his strength or agility. There wasn’t an ounce of extraneous body fat on the man. He was, if Jim were honest with himself—and Jim was always honest with himself—a handsome specimen. And he had no problems with nudity. Jim wasn’t ruled by his body. He could keep his sexual desires under firm control, something that he went to great pains to learn when he was an adolescent. A human body was, in the end, nothing more than a body. It was the idea of Sebastian sitting nude _on Jim’s expensive red velvet sofa_ that was abhorrent. That was one of the most unhygienic things Jim could think of. It would positively _ruin_ the sofa. Disgusted with the idea and with his obvious defeat, Jim scowled and abruptly got to his feet. 

“Where’re you going?” Sebastian asked, watching Jim predatorily as he walked around the sofa and carefully put on his shoes. 

“Out,” Jim snapped. 

Sebastian was apparently more perceptive than Jim had given him credit for. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted a flatmate,” he pointed out helpfully. 

Jim seethed. He hated losing. He wouldn’t play this game anymore. Without another word, he finished tying his shoes, straightened up, and stalked out into the corridor, slamming the door behind him. 

 

* * *

 

When Jim returned that afternoon, carrying a large, sturdy envelope which contained the script he needed to read, he opened the door to his flat and was greeted by music. Sebastian had apparently found the sound system and hooked his phone up to it. He was stretched out on the sofa, eyes closed, listening intently to the lyrics of some song in Spanish. Jim couldn’t focus on translating it in his head. All he knew was that the music was _definitely_ boy band territory, and it was _not_ okay. 

He marched over to the phone dock and quickly switched off the speakers. Sebastian opened his eyes and lifted his head. “What’d you do that for?” he asked.

“Absolutely not,” Jim stated. He stalked to his desk and sat down, opening the envelope and pulling out the script. The programme was called “The Storyteller.” In it, the Storyteller would tell classic fairy tales and folk legends, which would be acted out by other people. The agency wanted him to read for the Storyteller role. Jim was quite pleased. He had always loved stories. If he got the role, he could definitely use it in his game with Sherlock. 

Jim’s thoughts were interrupted when the jarring sound of death metal suddenly blared through the speakers. Electric guitars and rasping vocals were even lower on the list of things Jim would tolerate than boy bands were. He got to his feet and whirled around. Sebastian was standing by the speakers, arms crossed, looking smug, like he’d just won something. Jim seethed with anger and went right up to him, invading his personal space as he reached behind him and plucked Sebastian’s phone from the dock. There was an an electric crack, and then the speakers fell silent. He scrolled through the music selection on the phone, then handed it to Sebastian. “No. Just no. You have atrocious taste in music.”

Sebastian accepted the phone with a roll of his eyes. “Like you’re one to talk,” he muttered. He pushed past Jim and went into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Jim glowered at the door. This was going to be a problem. 

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Sebastian emerged from the bedroom carrying a small laundry bag slung over his shoulder. He went into the kitchen, ignoring Jim entirely, and opened the washing machine under the counter next to the sink. He unceremoniously dumped the entire contents of the bag into the machine, then opened the cabinet next to it and used Jim’s own laundry detergent to load up the machine. 

Jim scowled at him, but said nothing. Sebastian started the machine and went straight back to the bedroom. He was clearly angry, and chose to be passive-aggressive about it. Jim didn’t understand why he was so worked up. Sebastian had shown a remarkable propensity for calm, so why the sudden shift?

It was a puzzle. He’d have to work it out, and soon. The flatsharing thing had shown promise the day before, with Sebastian being challenging in all the right ways, impressing Jim with his patience and his mischievous courage. But today was all wrong, nothing but annoyances, and now something was making Sebastian push at Jim’s buttons on purpose. It couldn’t have been anything Jim did, because he hadn’t done anything different. So, what?

 

* * *

 

By the time Sebastian’s laundry was done, he had calmed down enough to emerge from the bedroom and start chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Jim ignored him in favor of memorizing the script. He’d had Daniel arrange the reading for the following day, and he was determined to make such an impression that the directors would have little choice but to give him the role. It would be tedious, having to play nice, awkward actor Richard Brook for so long, but it would be worth it when the plan was coming together, the net closing around Sherlock, and the detective was confronted with an enemy he had apparently made up. 

Jim had the script halfway memorized, and was thinking about how to best present the character, when Sebastian tapped him on the shoulder, startling him from his thoughts. Jim looked up, annoyed.

“Dinner’s ready,” Sebastian said. He returned to the kitchen. 

Jim considered, suspicious. Sebastian had been angry. Had he gotten over it? Was dinner a peace offering? There were too many possibilities, and, infuriatingly, Jim couldn’t tell which was more likely. Sebastian was a closed book, impossible to read. 

Jim’s stomach growled. He may as well take a break for dinner. He could puzzle out his flatmate later. Sebastian was already dishing food out onto plates. Rice and vegetables in some kind of reddish sauce. It smelled wonderful. And vaguely familiar. Jim wracked his memory. “Curry?” he asked. Sebastian nodded. Jim hadn’t had curry in a long time. It tended to be too spicy for his tastes. “Is it mild?” he asked cautiously. It didn’t smell too bad, but one could never be sure.

“Pretty mild, yeah,” Sebastian said. “I usually make it hotter for myself.” He was eating it without any sign of discomfort. Jim decided that was encouraging, and helped himself to a bite.

It was like fire in his mouth. His face heated up and his eyes watered. He was vaguely aware of Sebastian swearing under his breath and jumping up from the table. Jim barely managed to swallow. Sebastian set a glass of milk in front of him and he took it desperately, drinking it in large gulps. “Are you _trying_ to kill me?” he rasped. 

“Most people don’t react this way to it!” Sebastian said. He hovered nervously. 

The hovering was too much. Jim couldn’t stand showing any sign of weakness, and here he was practically crying because his flatmate had fed him some god-awful spicy curry. And that same flatmate was hovering as if Jim couldn’t take care of himself. It was decidedly too much for him to take.

“Get away from me!” Jim shouted. He needed space.

Sebastian’s demeanor instantly changed. He straightened up and left the kitchen. Jim was relieved. He could recover in peace. A moment later, the door to the corridor slammed shut. Jim spun around, wiping at his eyes. Was Sebastian angry? Again? What the hell had he done this time? The memory of their first evening together came to him. Sebastian had asked to not be shouted at. Jim hadn’t thought much of it then, and found himself wondering why shouting was such a big deal for Sebastian. He’d been in the army, after all, and there was plenty of shouting involved there. Could it be related to his military service? Jim would have to find out. He made a mental note about it and reached for the glass of milk again.

 

* * *

 

Jim was in the middle of firing off emails to various clients and contacts when the lock clicked open and the door swung quickly inwards. Jim glanced up to confirm it was Sebastian, then did a double-take. Sebastian was leaning heavily on the door, clinging to it for support. The scent of stale alcohol clung to him, strong enough that Jim could smell it from his desk and wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

Sebastian blinked at him with wide eyes. “Jim! Oh, god, Jim! I have something to tell you. It’s very important,” he said earnestly, his words slurring together. He swayed on his feet. 

Jim immediately got to his feet and went over to Sebastian. “You’re drunk,” he stated plainly.

Sebastian appeared confused for a moment. “Well, yeah,” he finally said. “Don’t change the subject, Jim, I have to tell you—“

Jim loathed being around drunks. Alcohol dulled their already sub-par mental faculties, turned people into blathering idiots that weren’t even fun to toy with because half the time they wouldn’t remember it the next day. “New rule,” he said, interrupting. “Be drunk elsewhere.”

“What?”

Jim took Sebastian’s key, which was still hanging from the lock. Then he pushed Sebastian into the hallway and firmly shut and locked the door. Then, disgusted, he went into the bedroom, dropped the key onto Sebastian’s cot, and went into the bathroom. He was certain the stench of the pub was clinging to his hands. He needed to shower, or he’d never get anymore work done. As he turned the water on and waited for it to heat up, he started thinking of entertaining ways to kill off Sebastian and be rid of his annoying presence once and for all. 

 


	5. Day Four: Escape Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd

Sebastian awoke when the door opened and he fell—hard—onto the floor. He forced open his eyes and squinted upwards, the morning light streaming in through the windows stabbing him in the retinas. The blurry form of Jim was standing over him, dressed once more in “civilian” garb. “Do try not to lay in the doorway all day,” he said. “I’m going out.”

Sebastian watched blearily as Jim stepped over him and disappeared down the hall and into the lift. His head was aching something fierce. He didn’t want to move. Going back to sleep right where he was laying was a very appealing option, but his survival instincts kicked in and he started feeling uneasy. Sleeping in the hallway had been dangerous, but he’d been drunk. At least he had the comfort or knowing the flat was properly soundproofed; he’d made a right fool of himself asking Jim to let him in and apologizing for everything he could think of. His memory was a bit fuzzy on the details, but he was pretty sure he’d begged Jim to not hate him. If Jim had heard that, he’d never live it down. 

“ _A la verga_ ,” he muttered, pushing himself into a sitting position. His head swam, and he closed his eyes to fight the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He was lucky he hadn’t vomited in the hall in the night, with the amount he’d had to drink. He hadn’t meant to go overboard, but Jim had gone and _shouted_ at him, and though he’d had every excuse to shout, it didn’t lessen the effect it had on Sebastian. It had taken far too much alcohol to reign in the urge to take life, and even then, it had only just been overcome by his stupid, drunken insecurities.

He pulled himself to his feet and stumbled inside, kicking the door shut and only just remembering to take off his boots before he went to the kitchen and gulped down a glass of water. He was still itching to hold a gun, to pull the trigger and watch someone’s brains explode out of their head. To take a life, and regain the calm control he’d cultivated for survival. He swore again: he’d be feeling off kilter and vulnerable until he’d killed someone. It was time to call his contacts and see if anyone had a job for him.

But first, painkillers and a shower. A splitting headache and the stench of alcohol does not a good assassin make. 

 

* * *

 

Sebastian was in luck. Heathcliff, one of his highest paying employers, needed a news anchor taken care of. She was threatening to reveal his involvement in a number of shady business transactions, which would no doubt land him in prison. Sebastian rather liked Heathcliff, and would prefer to keep him in the world at large. 

He set up in the stairwell of the building he’d chosen to take the shot from. It was a mile away from the studio, and the landing between the eleventh twelfth floors had a clear view of the front entrance. Heathcliff’s men, wearing uniforms borrowed from the local cleaning service, had that section of the stairwell guarded. No one would go in or out until Sebastian was done. The fact that Heathcliff even thought to provide that service to his assassins was something else Sebastian liked him for. A job always went a lot smoother when you didn’t have to worry about diverting civilians yourself.

Candace Winthrop, employed by the BBC to deliver the afternoon news, would be leaving any minute now. Heathcliff had assured him that she was strict about her schedule. Sebastian watched the front of the studio and the street carefully. Soon enough, a sleek black car with tinted windows pulled up to the pavement. Sebastian recognized the model. Likely to be armored. A moment later, Candace stepped out of the building. She was, in the typical fashion of reporters everywhere, decked out in a bright color. Hers was blue, from her heels to her coat and the iconic feathered hat perched upon her head. “You’re just asking to be killed,” Sebastian muttered. 

She walked toward the black car. As he suspected, she was protected. Sebastian would have to be quick to utilize this window of opportunity. He took a moment to verify her face through the scope (unlikely though it was, she could have loaned that hideous hat to someone else), then took aim. 

Calm, cool focus settled over him. There was nothing but him, his gun, and the target. He set the sights on her head, slightly ahead of where she was, breathed, and pulled the trigger. The bullet flew from his gun with a muffled crack, and a moment later, Candace Winthrop was no more. Her body crumpled to the pavement as pedestrians fled. 

Feeling much more like himself, Sebastian packed away his gun and left the stairwell. Time to collect his paycheck and head home.

 

* * *

 

Sebastian was in a good mood. He’d just earned himself fifty thousand pounds and restored his equilibrium. Best of all, it was poker night. There was little more enjoyable than poker night with a fresh commission to burn. Sebastian would be the first to admit that he was completely rubbish at poker, but that didn’t diminish the fun of it. He hummed happily to himself as he unlocked the door and went into the flat.

Jim was sprawled on the sofa, occupied with something on his phone. He didn’t look up when Sebastian came in. Sebastian took his gun case over to the kitchen table. He needed a workspace, and didn’t think Jim would appreciate him using the sitting room. With practiced care and efficiency, he removed the pieces of his sniper rifle and began thoroughly cleaning them. Halfway through, he was vaguely aware that Jim had come to stand behind him. He let Jim watch, focusing on his task until it was finished. 

It was only once he’d put the pieces away and closed the case that Jim spoke. “You killed someone today.”

Sebastian nodded. “Yup. It’s in the job description.”

He stood and walked around Jim towards the bedroom, to put the case away under his cot. Jim followed him. “I didn’t ask you to kill anyone.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “You’re not the only person I work for.” 

“Yes, I am.”

Sebastian did not miss the dark, threatening tone in Jim’s voice. He was more than just angry, he was _livid._ These were the kind of moods that put people at their most dangerous. Jim would be no exception. “I don’t believe we ever agreed to those terms,” he said calmly. He put his gun case away and tried to go back to the sitting room. 

Jim stood in the doorway and refused to let him pass. “We’re not agreeing. I’m telling you.” He leaned forward until his face was mere inches from Seb’s, staring at him with hard, dark eyes. “And if you _ever_ take a job for someone else again, I will gut you and hang your entrails from the London Eye. Do you understand?”

It didn’t matter that Jim was threatening him. Sebastian really didn’t care. What he wasn’t going to put up with was being told what he could and could not do, especially when it came to work. Jim was the only employer who called him with assignments, which he took for the excessive pay and the thrill of the challenges Jim gave him. Everyone else waited for Sebastian Morán to call them. He was one of the best, and as such, it was an honor to have him offer his services. Nobody dictated his jobs but himself. Definitely not Jim. 

His fist met Jim’s face before Jim had time to react. There was a thunking sound when his knuckles met Jim’s cheekbone, and Jim staggered against the doorframe. He blinked several times and worked his jaw experimentally. Sebastian pushed past him and left the flat, pausing only long enough to pick up his boots and carry them out with him. Sod the thrill, the constant sense of danger, and Jim’s goddamn attractiveness. He was _not_ going to stick around if it meant Jim being a control freak about every aspect of his life. Tomorrow, he was out.

 


	6. Day Five: Compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd, minor edit (28 October 2012)

Jim paced back and forth across the flat. Midmorning sun was shining through his windows. Sebastian still hadn’t come back. Jim had spent the night deep in agitated thought, pacing about the flat until he couldn’t stand it anymore, then pacing about the streets of London in the dead of night, only to return in the morning to find no sign that Sebastian had been there. 

After Sebastian had hit him and stormed out of the flat, Jim had been, well, confused by what he was feeling. He should have been furious, should have immediately called out a hit on Sebastian and had him taken care of. But instead, he was, well, impressed. Not many people would be willing to risk their lives to throw a punch at Jim Moriarty’s face. And when he’d fled, it’d not been in fear, but anger. Sebastian was truly unafraid of him. 

But there was more to it. This was the second sudden and drastic mood swing Jim had witnessed. Sebastian was known for being calm and collected at all times. He was so _quiet_. Jim never knew what he was thinking. He could usually tell, but with Sebastian it was impossible. Sebastian was constantly on guard, always behind that calm mask. It was frustrating but endlessly fascinating. 

Still, he should be angry. He was angry. Furious, even. Sebastian had ruined four years of delicate work by killing Candace. He was finally going to be rid of a lifelong thorn in his side and a major hindrance to his criminal empire. Four years of work, gone, just like that. But Candace had been under protection. Under _his_ protection. And Sebastian had, in less than twelve hours, found a hole and exploited it. No one else could have gotten close enough to assassinate Candace. Sebastian, though, didn’t need to be close. His accuracy at such great distances was nothing short of impressive. Jim wondered what Sebastian could do if he had a better gun.

Sebastian couldn’t work for anyone else, though. It would risk another incident like Candace and besides, Sebastian was living with him now. Sebastian was _his_. No one else’s. 

Sebastian didn’t agree, though. And he’d left. And he hadn’t come back. It was obvious to Jim that Sebastian was going to leave. He’d decided he’d had enough of Jim. That had come through loud and clear in the punch to his face. Jim rubbed his cheek absently. It still stung. He’d checked his reflection earlier. Sometime in the night it had begun to bruise. He would have to work remotely until it faded. A bruised cheek would hurt his image and thus his business. It would be so _boring,_ waiting for it to heal, without Sebastian in the flat. Sure, he was annoying and did everything completely wrong, but anyone could be trained, given enough time. And training Sebastian would definitely be an operation in delicacy, if the previous four days were anything to go by. 

That would require Sebastian to stay, however. Jim couldn’t force him to stay. That was out from the start. There was no way in hell Jim would outright ask, either. That would give entirely the wrong impression and imply that they were equals, which they certainly weren’t. Jim thought back over the last few days. Sebastian didn’t let Jim be in charge. He resisted Jim’s controlling behavior. That must have been what set him off this time. Jim had made it abundantly clear that he expected to get his way all the time, and Sebastian had obviously decided he wasn’t okay with that. 

There was nothing else to do. If he wanted Sebastian to stay, Jim would have to _apologize_. It would show Sebastian that he wanted him around and knew force wouldn’t work. It would imply a willingness to compromise. It’s the sort of thing ordinary people were always expecting of each other after they’d had a row. 

Jim didn’t apologize. Ever. 

Maybe there was another way?

The door opened behind him and he whirled around. Sebastian stepped inside and stood there, looking at him carefully, assessing the situation. Jim wondered if it was obvious that he hadn’t slept. He had a tendency to develop dark circles under his eyes, which was why he made sure to sleep regularly, even if he could function for days on end without it. 

“Where were you?” Jim asked. He cursed himself inwardly. That sounded just as controlling as he’d been yesterday. Wrong tactic, reverse, change gears. Now.

Sebastian didn’t give any sign of a reaction. “Elsewhere,” he said simply. 

“Elsewhere?” Jim echoed.

“Your rule.”

Oh. That rule. Despite being furious with him, Sebastian had respected his rule. Or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to sleep in the corridor again. Either way, this was good. There was a chance. “Right.” He should apologize. Right now. It was the perfect opportunity, and then he’d have more time to toy with Sebastian and puzzle him out. It would be a brilliant distraction. All he needed to do to ensure it was apologize.

But could he? He still meant everything he said. How could he possibly apologize for that and not have Sebastian get even more angry with him when he realized it was insincere? 

Sebastian grew tired of waiting and took off his boots. Then he went straight for the bedroom. Jim clamped down on his panic. Sebastian was going to pack his things and leave, and then Jim would have to kill him, and that was not what he had in mind. He reached into his pocket suddenly and pulled out the pack of his favorite chewing gum he’d bought while he was out stalking the streets, and held it out towards Sebastian like a peace offering.

“Here.”

Sebastian paused and looked at the gum thoughtfully. Next he studied Jim’s face for a few long moments. Then, inexplicably, his face lit up with an amused grin and he burst out laughing. Not the chuckles that Jim was used to hearing, but loud, genuine laughter. Jim wasn’t sure if he should be offended or relieved.

“Sure, why not,” Sebastian said, taking the gum and wiping at his eyes. “Hey, I’m gonna get changed. When I come back out, how about you tell me what yesterday was all about?”

Jim nodded, relief flooding through him. It had worked, and he hadn’t actually had to apologize. He’d get what he wanted. Sebastian would stay. From now on he’d have to tread more carefully. Sebastian wasn’t like most people, he wouldn’t be walked all over or easily manipulated into doing things Jim’s way. He would be a challenge. A worthy one, too.

Minutes later, Sebastian emerged, wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a baggy tee. He sat on the couch and waited for Jim to do the same. “So?” he prompted. 

Jim fixed Sebastian with a look that clearly said this was serious business. Because it was. He couldn’t have this happening again. “Candace was under my protection,” he said simply.

Sebastian’s eyes widened. “ _Mierda_ ,” he swore. “If I’d known, I’d have turned it down.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Would you, really?”

Sebastian nodded. “Wouldn’t do to piss off my flatmate. Your work is important to you, so it’s important to me.”

That was a surprise. Jim hadn’t expected such sentimentality out of Sebastian, not after their arguing and fights, and especially not after living together for a mere four days. Surprises like this were why he was fascinated by Sebastian. 

“How about this,” Sebastian went on, “From now on, when I’m scouting out jobs, I’ll run them by you to make sure they’re not one of yours.”

That was actually reasonable, Jim thought. He could handle that until he’d gotten Sebastian to see it his way. Sebastian would still get to work when he wanted, and Jim was still mostly in control. It was a compromise. There’s something else Jim never thought he’d do. He suddenly found himself wondering what Sebastian was like while he was working. Was he relaxed and at ease? Tense? Impatient? Jim had to know. “I’m coming with you, next time,” he announced.

Sebastian gave him an uncomprehending look. “What?”

“I want to watch you work.”

A flicker of emotion darted across Sebastian’s face before he shut it down. Jim didn’t have time to decipher it. He hoped it wasn’t bad. 

Sebastian shrugged. “As long as you don’t talk.”

Jim grinned. It had worked. He was getting his way, mostly, and Sebastian didn’t seem angry anymore. It was good. Very, very good. 

“Oh, and Jim? If you want to keep your people from being killed, you should really make sure they wear less conspicuous headgear. That hat was like a giant bullseye.” 

 

* * *

 

That night, Jim barely slept. He was tired, but he wanted to listen to the sounds Sebastian made while he was asleep. (Sebastian was a dreadfully boring sleeper, all still and quiet.) And he wanted to think. Sebastian was a puzzle, an interesting one, and he needed to figure out the best way to go about solving him. But mostly he thought about how glad he was that Sebastian had stayed. There was something oddly pleasing about having someone else around, when he wasn’t grating on Jim’s last nerve. Jim hadn’t known how boring things could get when he was left to himself. Almost everyone else was unbearable, it was true, but it just took the right kind of person to make life more interesting. Sebastian happened to be that kind of person. Jim looked forward to breaking him. 

 


	7. Day Seven: Under Observation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd

Sebastian couldn’t believe this was happening. He should have expected it, really. Jim was bound to get nosy once they’d managed to settle into some sort of peace. It was only a matter of time before he’d hacked into Sebastian’s personal accounts. 

“Where does it all _go?_ ” Jim asked, staring at the computer screen with intense interest. 

“You’re looking at my bank account, you tell me,” Sebastian said. 

“Don’t try to be clever, Tiger, it doesn’t suit you.” 

“No, but smart-ass does. Would you like me to give that a try?” 

Jim ignored him and scrolled down the page again. “You get paid an excessive amount of money, doing what you do. I would know. But you never have more than two thousand in the bank. It would be impossible to carry that much cash around, and you clearly don’t spend it on personal possessions, so what?”

“Maybe I don’t get paid. Maybe I do it for fun.” Sebastian swirled his bottle of beer. It was half empty, and he was considering the pros and cons of finishing it swiftly so he could get another. God, he did not want to be having this conversation with Jim. But the man was obsessive, and there was no deterring him from a line of inquiry once he’d gotten on it. 

“Well, _I_ certainly pay you, and this account has never seen it. You don’t have any other accounts. I’ve checked.”

Sebastian wondered if ignoring the conversation would help any.

“You carry all your possessions with you when you move. They’re old, well-cared for, but the bare necessities, with the exception of your gaming console. You’re a top assassin, everyone wants you on their side, you should be able to afford to leave everything behind and start over every time you move. You could certainly get something more comfortable than that cot you sleep on. Honestly I don’t know how you do it.”

Being ignored didn’t seem to register with him, and Sebastian was getting more than a little annoyed. “It’s practical,” he bit out. 

Jim looked up suddenly and narrowed his eyes at Sebastian. “Yes, everything about you is utterly practical. Which implies you’d save up your pay and use it only when needed. But you don’t. Seb, where does it all go?”

“Does it really matter?”

“Absolutely.”

There was no use. Jim would get his answer one way or another, and Sebastian really didn’t want to be tailed or followed around after his next job. “I gamble. Poker.”

Jim’s brows furrowed together as he processed the information, linking it into his web of thoughts until it completed the picture. Sebastian loved it when he had that look on his face. It was something most people didn’t see, he was sure. Jim did his thinking away from others, so that when he interacted with them he gave the impression of being in complete control of everything, even if he wasn’t.  

“You’re completely rubbish at it, aren’t you?” The way Jim asked the question told Sebastian that he already knew the answer. Sebastian took a long swig of his beer. 

“Yep.”

“But you still play regularly. High stakes. They let you in?”

“It’s fun, and they like the easy money.”

Jim studied him carefully. “You would have learned to play in the army. Friends from the service invite you along, is that how it started?”

Sebastian had no idea how the hell Jim could know all that when he’d only just found out that Sebastian gambled. He was sure there was some logic to it, but he wasn’t about to ask. “Mystery solved, congratulations.”

“This is completely unacceptable.”

Sebastian eyed him warily. “Say that again?”

“You’re good at everything else you do, poker should be no different.” It didn’t seem to register with Jim that’d he’d just complimented Sebastian. Sebastian, however, couldn’t ignore it, or the fluttery sensation in his gut it caused. He smiled to himself and let Jim continue. “Besides, it’s necessary in your line of work to be able to read faces. If you can’t catch the tells, how will you know if a potential client or employer is setting you up? It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long.”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“Your poker history says otherwise. We’re going out.” Jim closed his laptop and carried it back to his desk. 

Sebastian finished off his beer. “Where?”

“You’re going to learn to read faces.”

* * *

 

“This one is _boring_ ,” Jim whined. “Can’t you have found someone more interesting to kill?”

“I did. Four of them, remember? They were all yours.” Sebastian carefully fitted the pieces of his rifle together. “I don’t even know why you want to do this tonight. Poker night’s not until Thursday, and besides, I’m not taking you along. They’d never have me back.”

“Your group isn’t the only one that gambles in this city. There’s a card room at the May Fair at eight tonight. I can get us in if you can get some money to lose.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and settled in at the window. He could see the employee entrance at the back of the McDonald’s where his target worked. Vanessa Jorden, part of one of Chora’s minor drug rings, who’d been stealing more than she was selling. She was a heavy smoker, and would take advantage of every break to get a hit out back. “I thought the point was to keep me from losing money.”

“And you’ll lose a lot while you’re practicing. Are you sure you can do this so quickly?” He peered out the window curiously.

“This one’s easy. Or it will be, if you don’t distract me. What happened to no talking?” The view through the scope was clear. Way too easy. He could do this in his sleep.

“I’m bored.”

Sebastian glanced up. Jim was leaning against the stairwell wall, arms crossed loosely. He was watching Sebastian from the corner of his eye. “You’re the one who wanted to watch me work. Shut up and don’t distract me,” Sebastian said.

Sebastian returned his attention to his  scope and tried to slip into the calm, patient mindset that is key to a hunter’s success. It was harder than usual this time. He knew it was Jim’s presence distracting him. He could feel those cold, calculating eyes watching him, analyzing his every movement, no matter how small. Rationally, he knew it had been a bad idea to let Jim come along. He was distracting and, honestly, his unabashed observation was a bit creepy. But despite that, Sebastian was glad he was there. Something about being watched while he was in his element, doing what he was best at, about being watched by _this_ man, excited Sebastian. It flooded his veins with the fire of adrenaline, made his heart race and sparked stirring of desire in his loins. Not very conducive to working. Instead of thinking about the feel of the gun against his shoulder, he found himself thinking about what it would be like to push Jim up against the wall and snog him until they needed to come up for air. Jim was probably a biter. He’d nip at Sebastian’s lips and—

No, no, no. Sebastian forced his mind back to the task at hand. Fantasizing about Jim, fine. Doing so while Jim was _standing right there_ was just not on. 

Movement outside caught his eye. The door was opening. He watched closely through the scope. A tall, slender woman with a bright blue bob and dressed in the standard uniform stepped out into the alley. She reached into her trouser pocket and fished out a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter. Sebastian examined her face carefully. A dead match for the photograph he’d been given. He lined up the sights, breathed, and on the exhale pulled the trigger. His shoulder jerked a bit from the recoil. Vanessa Jorden fell the the ground, a bullet hole right between her eyes. 

Jim gave a start and left his place to peer out the window. “Impressive.”

“Easy,” Sebastian replied. He was hyper-aware of Jim’s closeness, imagined he could feel Jim’s body heat on his skin. This was not going to end well. 

“I couldn’t tell you’d seen her until you pulled the trigger.”

“Any movement could alert the prey to the hunter’s presence, Papá used to say.”

Jim stepped back and regarded Sebastian thoughtfully. “Is that so?”

Sebastian nodded and took his rifle apart, placing each piece carefully back into the case. Jim pointed at the keychain attached to it, a tiny, impossible-to-read Spanish-English dictionary. “Tell me about that.”

Rifle pieces safely in place, Sebastian closed the case and picked it up as he got to his feet. He could understand Jim’s interest in his work, but in his keychain? It was at once flattering and setting off alarm bells. “Present from my sister,” he answered honestly. “She gave it to me when I left for Uni.”

Jim smiled slyly. “Well then, shall we collect your commission?”

Sebastian cursed inwardly. Jim was having ideas. Jim plus ideas was never, _ever_ going to end well. 


	8. Day Eight: Civility and Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan belongs to and is written by the lovely Jay. Many thanks to her for letting Sebastian absorb Dan into his backstory. 
> 
> ubeta'd

“Sir, you’ve got the part,” Daniel said. “The director wants you to give him a call so he can talk to you about the changes he’d like to see in the character.”

Jim smiled, satisfied. “Thank you, darling. Let me know when the scripts are available for pick-up, will you?”

“Of course, sir.”

Jim ended the call and leaned back into the corner of the sofa, grinning up at the ceiling. His alias was progressing well. He needed to use the Brook mobile to call the producers. It was in the top drawer of his desk. Jim decidedly did not feel like getting up. Sebastian could bring it, but he’d gone to take a shower. Jim listened carefully. The water had stopped. Perfect. “Sebbie, bring me the phone from my desk, will you?” he called.

There was movement in the bedroom, but the door didn’t open. Jim tried again. “Sebbie?”

“Alright, alright.”  Sebastian emerged from the bedroom and padded across the room to the desk. “The Brook phone, right?” Jim heard the drawer open and close. He twisted around to take the phone and immediately sat up straight. 

Sebastian was wearing Jim’s dressing gown. The cotton one in lavender. It was too short for Sebastian, both in length and the arms, but it was tied shut around his waist. Jim narrowed his eyes. He was ninety eight percent certain Sebastian wasn’t wearing any pants. Granted, he _had_ just showered. But still. That was _Jim’s_. They’d been through this.

Sebastian caught the look on his face and rolled his eyes. “Didn’t want to make you wait,” he said, holding out the phone.

Jim took it and scowled. “You should really get your own.” Sebastian shrugged and went into the kitchen. Jim sighed, then took a moment to slip into his Richard Brook persona. He stood from the couch and paced across the living room, back again, then plugged the producer’s number into the mobile. 

“Trevor Marshall. What can I do for you?”

“Ah, this is Rich Brook. My agent said to call you?”

“Yes, Richard! Good to hear from you! I just wanted to go over some details with you regarding your role.”

Jim resumed his pacing. “Yes, Daniel was saying. Changes to the character, right? What do you want me to work on?”

“The only flaw I could see in your performance at your audition was that you were a bit cold. The Storyteller needs to be warm and friendly, very welcoming. You were close, but it needs work,” Trevor explained. “If you’ve got someone to practice with, that’s good. If not, we’ll work on it. I want to start filming soon. Can you make it in at nine on Wednesday?”

Jim would have to rearrange a few things to make that work. Normally that would be a problem, but this was special. This was for Sherlock. “Oh, yes, of course! Wednesday is good, it’s great! I will definitely be there!”

“I like your enthusiasm, Rich. See you then.”

Jim dropped the persona as soon as he ended the call. He loathed pretending he was some desperate actor with a dull mind and a timid personality. But it suited his purposes and that was what mattered.

“It’s creepy how good you are,” Sebastian said. “That acting? Never would suspect you were a criminal mastermind if I didn’t already know you.” He was leaning against the kitchen table, sipping his morning glass of milk and watching Jim, amusement clear on his face. He’d been listening to Jim’s half of the phone call. He _saw_ Jim playing at Rich Brook and something about that bothered Jim immensely. “So do you need help with whatever you’re working on?”

“I don’t _need_ help with anything,” Jim snapped.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Fine. Do you _want_ help?”

Jim glared at him. This conversation was ending. He looked pointedly at his dressing gown. “I want you to stop using my things.”

 

* * *

 

“When it was announced that Arthur was to be king, the nobles were jealous, and refused to crown him,” Jim said. He was sitting on his desk chair, working through the lines for the first episode of the Storyteller. Sebastian had been playing some violent game on his xbox for the last hour, using his headset at Jim’s request so the sounds wouldn’t be bothersome. After thoroughly testing how much Sebastian could hear over the game, and determining it to be nothing short of shouting, Jim had decided to take advantage of the time to rehearse. “But the commoners rejoiced, saying, ‘This boy is our leader!’ and the nobles relented. From that day on, Arthur was king of Britain, and Merlin the Magician was his advisor and friend.”

“Too much of you and not enough of this Brook fellow,” Sebastian said.

Jim looked at him sharply. He’d turned off his game and was sitting sideways on the sofa, watching Jim over the back of it. How long had he been listening and how did Jim not notice?

Sebastian continued. “Kids are perceptive, they’ll catch that. Soften your tone a little more, try not to sound so sinister.”

“I don’t sound sinister,” Jim protested.

“You’re doing it right now,” Sebastian said calmly.

Jim frowned. “I am?” 

“You’re a very sinister person, Jim. Think about someone you know who’d be good with kids, and tell the story like they would.” 

Jim didn’t know many people who would be good with children. His social circles tended to be vicious and uncompromising criminals of varying specialties. However. . . He looked at Sebastian thoughtfully. Sebastian seemed to understand children better than Jim. He wasn’t easily phased and was firm about setting boundaries. Those were important when dealing with children, weren’t they? Jim’s thought process must have showed on his face because Sebastian grinned. “Got one? Good, now go through it again.”

He ran the lines once more, shifting himself into a more laid-back, easygoing mood. He’d be someone forgiving, someone impossibly patient, someone a lot like, well. . . a lot like Sebastian.

“That was better!” Sebastian said when Jim had finished. “A lot better. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with it now.”

“Thanks,” Jim said uncertainly, feeling more than a little out of sorts. He’d just let Sebastian help him with his work. He’d never done that with anyone before. It implied he was starting to trust Sebastian more than he’d trusted anyone since his childhood. This was troubling. 

But it had been somewhat enjoyable, getting Sebastian’s approval that way. 

“Hey, if you’re done for now, how about joining me for a game?” Sebastian asked. 

“I told you, I don’t play games.”

“That’s a lie. I’ve seen your Angry Birds scores.” How in the world had Sebastian managed that? Jim’s mind whirred, trying to figure it out. He only played on his phone, so Sebastian would have needed to get hold of it. But when? Jim kept the phone on his person at all times, except when he was sleeping. Nothing sensitive in his mobile had been accessed, however. What was Sebastian looking for?

Sebastian got up briefly to grab a second controller from next to the console and hook it up. Jim didn’t recall him owning two controllers. He must have bought the second one recently, with the intention of getting Jim to play. Was that it? Testing Jim’s truthfulness about if he played games? 

“Just one game, see if you like it.”

Jim considered. It would give him a chance to get to know Sebastian better, to puzzle him out and find out why he made Jim trust him. Jim was never one to waste an opportunity. “Alright, but you’ll have to explain how it works.”

Sebastian grinned. Jim came and sat beside him and listened carefully as he explained the game and all the controls. The goal was easy enough to understand: they just had to shoot each other. Repeatedly. When the game began, he quickly realized it wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. His reactions were nowhere near as trained as Sebastian’s were, and it was difficult to keep track of what was happening sometimes. Within minutes, Sebastian had killed him eight times.

“Good god, you’re such a noob,” Sebastian said, laughing. 

Jim said nothing, and accidentally stepped out from his cover. Death number nine. He was determined to get better at this and have his vengeance.

After death thirteen and one lucky kill, Sebastian’s phone rang. Sebastian paused the game, glanced at the caller ID, and said, “Hang on, I’ve got to take this.”

“Go ahead,” Jim said. No one had called Sebastian in all the time they’d been living together. This was a perfect opportunity to eavesdrop and learn interesting things.

Sebastian answered the call. “You’re still alive, are you?”

 _“For the moment,”_ a deep voice answered. Jim could hear it, just barely. Definitely male, even and controlled, with a touch of warmth to it. This was obviously a close friend of Sebastian’s.

“Why the call? I’m not taking jobs right now.” A close friend who supplied jobs? Work friend, then. Rare in Sebastian’s line of work. Interesting. Jim would have to find out who this person was.

 _“This has nothing to do with jobs! Call your crazy_ hermana _before she gets me shot! I’m telling you, Ian, if she causes my death, I will haunt you until you join me in hell.”_ Jim could hear gunshots in the background. Not practice, with that pattern. Enemy fire. But that was nothing unusual. What interested him most were the nickname—Ian, the last three letters of his name, but an acceptable alias that wouldn’t likely be traced back to the name Sebastian—Jim really ought to come up with a similar unusual nickname for his flatmate—and the fact that Sebastian apparently had a sister he was avoiding talking to. Potential blackmail material, there. Jim knew nothing about Sebastian’s family. He hadn’t been able to find them. Too many Moráns, not enough information on where Sebastian was from. He’d have to do more digging.

Sebastian sighed. _“And how did she get my number?”_ the caller went on, slightly agitated now. Then, fainter, talking to someone else, _“Hey, easy on the anesthetics. We still have to get out of here.”_ To Sebastian again, _“It’s all your fault.”_

“Haunt me all you want, this is not the best time to talk to her.” Sebastian seemed suddenly deflated, his cheerful mood quickly vanishing. He’d been pleased to hear from his friend, but the topic of his sister was definitely touchy. Jim was pleased. He could use this. 

 _“If she doesn’t quit, I swear I’ll track you down and put you in a hospital.”_ Sebastian rolled his eyes. Apparently Jim wasn’t the only one to regularly threaten.  That explained why threats were largely ineffective.

“Dan, stop answering when she calls.” The caller had a name! Not likely to be his real name, but it was a start. Jim would have to seek out all mercenaries and assassins by the name and weed out those who weren’t high caliber enough to work on Sebastian’s level.

_“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean the phone doesn’t vibrate!”_

“Alright fine. Chill out. I’ll find time.” God, Jim thought, Sebastian was a rubbish liar. No wonder his poker lessons hadn’t stuck yet.

 _“Ian.”_ Dan paused. His tone was dangerously nice. _“You do know that you can’t lie to me, right?”_

“Won’t stop me trying. How about you focus on not getting killed and lecture me later?”

 _“How about_ you _focus on not getting killed and call Luisa!”_ Another name to narrow the search. Excellent. 

“I’ll take it into consideration,” Sebastian said wearily.

Another voice, indistinct, from Dan’s side. Dan answered them first. _“Right, I’m coming! No, I’m not making my last call with my girlfriend!”_ Then, to Sebastian, _“Don’t consider it, just do it!”_ With that, Dan hung up on Sebastian. Sebastian rubbed his face and shoved his phone back into his pocket. 

“Sorry about that. Ready to get back to the game?”

Jim stood up, setting the controller to the side. “Not now. There’s something I have to do.” 

Sebastian nodded, as if he’d expected it. “Alright. I’ll start on dinner then.”

“Yes, fine.” Jim went to his computer and immediately pulled up his files on Sebastian. It was time to find his flatmate’s family.

 

 


	9. Day Eleven: Crossing the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uneta'd

Jim was out doing his Brook work, which left Sebastian to his own devices. It was Thursday, poker night, so Sebastian would normally find a job to do and take his earnings to the card room. But Jim wasn’t around to clear potential targets, and he’d been kept busy all of yesterday running around London picking up packages from drop points and taking them to other drop points. It was either very dangerous, or Jim was feeling generous, because he’d been paid several thousand in cash for the effort. 

He went out for lunch, then got the shopping on the way home. His phone rang in his pocket as he was unlocking the door, burdened by plastic bags. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and fished it out, glancing at the number.

His heart seemed to skip a beat. He knew that number, and it should not be on his caller ID. He dumped the bags on the kitchen table in a hurry and answered just before it went to voicemail.

“Luisa—“

“What the hell, Bastian? You change your number, delete your email account, and don’t bother to let us know you’re alive? I’ve been trying to find you for _two years_ ,” Luisa said, the familiar Spanish dialect of their hometown made piercing by her pitch. The fury and hurt was clear in her voice. 

Sebastian winced guiltily and answered her in kind, though calmly, “Better question: how did you get my number?”

“Dan gave it to me,” she said, her words clipped. “Took him long enough, but I knew once I’d found him that if I kept bothering him I’d get to you one way or another.”

“Luisa, listen, I know I’m an ass, but you can’t call me. This phone is for work only,” he explained. He started absently putting the shopping away, making sure that the cold foods made it into the fridge, cradling his mobile between his ear and shoulder.

“Oh, I know all about your work,” she said bitterly. “Dan, too? He seems like such a nice guy. I thought he’d have been a _good_ influence on you.”

Her words hit him like ice. She _knew_. Sebastian closed his eyes and steadied himself with his hands on the table. He’d spent his entire adult life trying to keep his mother and siblings from finding out what he did for a living. They were good, moral people, and even though he didn’t see the world the same way they did, he still cared deeply about them and wanted them to continue to be happy with him. But now that Luisa knew. . . 

“Have you told Mamá?” he asked quietly, dread sitting heavy in his gut.

His tone seemed to calm Luisa. “Of course not. It would break her heart. Bartolomé doesn’t know either, but I think Papá has always suspected.”

Harsh memories rose to the surface of his mind before he could shut them out. Yes, his father definitely knew, as did his uncle. They’d been a mercenary team long before Sebastian was born. His uncle had trained Dan, which was how the secret was outed between the four of them. But he couldn’t think of that visit home—his last—without falling prey to deep-seated insecurities. He forced his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. “How’d you find out?”

“How do you think I got your number? I did a lot of asking around, a lot of searching the international papers, looking for any sign of you. Once you make a name as an assassin, word gets out. I got in touch with many people who knew you, but no one knew where to reach you. Finally I found Dan, and it took nearly a month to get your number out of him. He answered the first time I called and there was gunfire and I just knew. . .” She trailed off.

Sebastian walked into the sitting room, restless. Luisa had put herself at great risk to seek him out like that. Any one of the people she spoke to could have been an enemy of his and decided to go after her to get to him. Not that it would have worked, but he still wished she had been smarter than that. But what was done couldn’t be changed. The current problem was Dan. She had fancied him back when he and Dan were visiting, and by the end of that trip had decided he was as good as family. She was as upset about Dan being a mercenary as she was about Sebastian. She’d thought they were bodyguards, after all. He could try to do something about that, at least. “Look, Dan _is_ a good person. The man’s got more morals than most in our line of work. He only goes after the bad guys, and he taught me my profession.”

“So you only shoot bad people, then? Not just anyone?” Luisa asked, a clear note of hope in her voice. 

Sebastian closed his eyes. He hated lying to his sister, and she almost always knew when he did. But he couldn’t tell her the truth. He chose his words carefully. “The thing about being hired by rich scumbags is that they nearly always want to do away with other rich scumbags.” That, at least, was truth. “Enough about my work, Luisa. Tell me about yourself. What have you been up to?”

They talked for a while, Sebastian pacing back and forth across the flat. Luisa caught him up on the family, telling him about her new boyfriend, funny stories from their mother’s bakery, the extent of their father’s arthritis, and Bartolomé’s recent marriage to a Scottish woman whose husband had been killed the year before on a hunting trip in Sebastian’s hometown. The woman had two young daughters, meaning Sebastian had nieces now. He’d have to remember to send them Christmas gifts. Eventually, Luisa turned the conversation on him. “So where are you now? I know you were fond of the Middle East.”

“London, actually. Been here a couple of years. I’ve got some drinking buddies down at the pub, and I play cards with a few friends from the army every week.” The flat door opened, and Sebastian glanced toward it long enough to see Jim coming in. He nodded at him, then returned his attention to his sister.

“So you’re making good money? You have a comfortable place to live? Mamá worries about that, you know. Doesn’t want you living in a damp basement somewhere,” she said.

Sebastian thought about all his grimy, falling-apart flats across the city which were almost always available when he needed a place to hide out, then looked around himself at the luxury that was his current home. “Mamá would be offended by the extravagance of it,” he laughed. “I’ve got a flatmate now, too. A bit difficult to put up with sometimes, but he keeps things interesting. He likes Mamá’s paella. You can tell her that.”

Luisa chuckled. “Yes, she’d like that. So what else? Do you have a boyfriend yet?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and sat down on the sofa. “No, I don’t.”

“Well, do you have your eye on anyone?” she prodded.

Sebastian hesitated. Jim was in the kitchen, fussing over the half-unpacked groceries. He might be eavesdropping, but it wasn’t likely, since Sebastian wasn’t even speaking in English. Besides, as long as no names came up, it’d be fine. “There is someone,” he admitted. 

Luisa practically squealed with delight. “Describe him to me!”

“A posh runt,” Sebastian said immediately, then had to stifle a giggle. “Smart, controlling, a pain in the ass, and very cute. When he’s not picking fights, though, he’s really fun to be around.”

“A feisty one this time, huh?” Luisa said. “I hope things go well. Have you kissed him yet?”

“No, not yet. Might not ever. It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always? Oh, I’ve got to go, Papá’s appointment is soon and I’m taking him. You should really come visit sometime, Bastian. He misses you. We all do.”

Sebastian thought about the way he and his father had last parted ways. No, he wasn’t welcome there. Not while his father still lived. That was something he couldn’t face. “I’ll see what I can do. Take care, Luisa.”

“You too.”

He hung up and leaned his head back against the velvet. It had been really refreshing to have a good, long talk with his little sister again. They’d always been close, and she was one of his favorite people. But at the same time, everything was different now. She knew about his profession. He’d kept that secret for five years, and coming to terms with the fact that Luisa had figured it out would be difficult. Not to mention it raised a valid concern: if he was going to continue to accrue a reputation as an assassin, more and more people would inevitably find out. Possibly even his mother one day. It really would break her heart to know that her middle child was a killer. She’d taken it hard enough when he’d joined the army after Uni.

“Who were you talking to?” Jim asked. 

“It’s none of your business,” Sebastian said. “But since you’ll find out anyway: my sister.” Only after he’d answered did he realize Jim had asked in Spanish, with an impeccable Madrid accent. Which meant he was fluent. Which meant he’d understood every word that Sebastian had said to Luisa. Jim wasn’t stupid, and if he’d been paying attention, he would surely have put two and two together after hearing that conversation. He quickly switched back into English. “Sorry about the shopping. I’ll finish putting it away now.”

“No need, I’ve done it,” Jim said. His tone was dark. Dangerous. Sebastian looked up at him, concerned. “What you should be sorry about is the shoes.”

Sebastian frowned, confused. Slowly, it came to him. He looked at his feet. He’d been so distracted by Luisa’s call, he’d forgotten to remove his boots at the door, and he’d been pacing back and forth across the flat in them. He could definitely see traces of oils on the carpet. “ _Leche!_ I didn’t even realize. I’ll get it cleaned, don’t worry.” He bent down and quickly unlaced his boots.

“You better clean it,” Jim said coldly. “Or I’ll just have to send an assassin to Huélamo. You’ve got family there, don’t you? Parents, an older brother, a younger sister. It would be a shame to have to make them pay for your mistakes.”

Sebastian took his boots to the door and shook his head. He wasn’t surprised that Jim had found his family. It was bound to happen eventually. What surprised him was the threat. Hadn’t Jim learned by now that threats wouldn’t work? “I don’t care if you kill them. It’ll have no bearing on whether or not I clean the carpet,” he said honestly. He turned to face Jim and crossed his arms. “I’m going to do it because I forgot, so it’s my responsibility. Not because you’re an annoying git who likes to threaten people.”

Jim frowned, then went to his desk and powered on his computer. “Fine then.” 

Sebastian went into the kitchen and dug a beer out of the fridge. He needed something to take the edge off his nerves about his sister. 

Jim called after him, “Bastian, make me some tea!” The name, from Jim’s mouth, grated on Sebastian. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then filled the kettle and went to stand in the entrance to the kitchen where he could properly glare at Jim.

“Let’s set this straight now.” Sebastian waited. Jim looked up expectantly. “Don’t ever call me Bastian again. Only my family gets to call me that. You’re not family.”

Jim regarded him quizzically for a moment, then, as if reaching a conclusion, settled back into his chair. A lewd smile crept across his face. “Oh, but I could be. Your sister, Luisa, is quite attractive.”

Sebastian saw red. In a moment he’d crossed the room, grabbed Jim by the front of his shirt, hauled him out of his chair. Jim’s eyes widened in surprise and he tried to take a step back. Sebastian shoved him against the wall and pinned him there with an arm across his chest. In the same motion he flipped open his favorite folding knife and pressed the blade to Jim’s throat. “Don’t you _ever_ talk about Luisa like that again, you sick fuck,” Sebastian growled. “You lay a finger on her, and I will personally carve you into bits and feed you to the birds.” Jim blinked slowly, watching Sebastian with the same reptilian expression he used when working on a particularly difficult puzzle. It infuriated Sebastian even further. This wasn’t a game. “Do you understand me?” he asked, voice low.

Jim acted quickly. He raised his hands, tangled his fingers in Sebastian’s hair, and pulled him down to kiss him. Sebastian’s mind blanked for a fraction of a second when his lips met Jim’s, and then he was putting the knife away and returning the kiss. This time Jim seemed to hesitate, but Sebastian wasn’t letting him get away with pulling something like this. The number of times he’d fantasized about kissing Jim, only to have Jim kiss him? He was going to take full advantage of it. He kissed Jim hungrily, and Jim, perhaps from surprise, perhaps from pleasure, let out a small gasp. Sebastian took the opportunity, sliding his tongue in past Jim’s lips. Jim’s hands slid down from Sebastian’s hair to clutch at the front of his shirt when Sebastian’s tongue met his, and Sebastian pressed himself closer, trapping Jim between his body and the wall. 

Then Jim was responding, sucking on Sebastian’s tongue, tilting his head back for a better angle. It brought Sebastian back to his senses enough to realize what he was doing. And what he was doing was a Very Big Mistake. He pulled away abruptly, putting space between himself and Jim. This was very much not good. God, had he been suppressing his attraction to Jim so long that he couldn’t control himself when Jim chose to play with him? He was an idiot, a bloody moron. He needed to have a good shag, is what he needed. Get some of this out of his system and deal with his arse of a flatmate tomorrow. To hell with cards, he was going to get pissed and find some handsome bloke to go home with. 

He couldn’t look at Jim as he snatched up his boots and fled the flat, the sound of the kettle boiling mingling with Jim’s quickened breaths.


	10. Day Twelve: Mutual Interest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially beta'd. Behold the smut! It arrives! First time I've ever written something like this. It is not my area. Forgive it for being rubbish.
> 
> Thanks to Addi for talking me into it, wazygoose over at NaNo for the beta work, and my dear nemesis, FreakierThanThou for walking me through the final edits. <3

Jim had never before understood why people found refuge in denying the facts of a bad situation. Only by acknowledging what was happening could a person turn a situation around to their advantage and regain control. Denial only made things worse in the long run. It was pointless and irrational.

Except right now, he couldn’t think of a single way to make this better. It was all wrong. He’d meant to confuse Sebastian with that kiss. To try and throw him off his game. Push his boundaries and find out, above all, what would happen. 

To find out. 

Because Sebastian was fascinating and unpredictable, and he never reacted like he should. 

And Jim just wanted to know.

It had been stupid. Unbelievably, impossibly stupid. And now Sebastian was gone. 

Jim had waited up all night, replaying the confrontation and the kiss in his head. He had been prepared for Sebastian to lash out, but had no idea he’d respond so strongly to an offhanded comment about his sister after he’d failed to be bothered by threats to kill her and the rest of his family. Being shoved against the wall and held at knifepoint should have worried Jim, but at the time, he’d been exhilarated. This wasn’t like the other times Sebastian had been pushed too far. He hadn’t walked out. He’d confronted. It was new and new meant progress, one step closer to figuring him out. 

And of course Jim had to pick that moment to have the realization that Sebastian standing up to him like that, refusing to back down, was incredibly enticing. Jim hadn’t acted on impulse. He’d taken a moment and thought it over. First there was his jealousy during Sebastian’s phone call, when he was certain Sebastian was telling his sister about someone that he fancied. It was worse than the thought of Sebastian working for someone else. Sebastian was Jim’s. That was final. Sebastian just needed to learn that. 

Then, of course, there was the very obvious fact that Jim _wanted_ to kiss Sebastian. It had been years since Jim had found someone properly attractive, mostly trustworthy, and completely unafraid of him. Fear was delightful, adorable even, but it wasn’t a turn-on. And there was Sebastian, full of defiance, not the slightest shred of fear about him. Jim wanted, and Jim took.

Of course, he’d still been very curious as to what Sebastian would do in response. That was part of his motivation for following through with the impulse. He would show Sebastian what he wanted, stake his claim, and watch the result.

The result was, of course, entirely unexpected. Jim had thought Sebastian would pull away in disgust, or anger, or something. Maybe he’d be confused. Perhaps he’d think it was part of some joke or game. But Jim had not suspected that Sebastian would return the gesture, and especially not with so much enthusiasm. It had been downright predatory, the way he’d kissed Jim.

It had been the best snog Jim had had in a very long time.

And just when he’d begun to enjoy himself, just when he’d decided he would spend the rest of the night taking advantage of this unexpected surprise, Sebastian had fled the flat without a word. One moment he was there, breath hot on Jim’s lips, and the next he was gone.

Jim had leaned against the wall, confused, until his arousal had subsided and his breathing and heart rate had returned to normal. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Sebastian was clearly attracted to Jim, and had been hiding it for a long while. How had Jim missed it? _How?_ Sebastian couldn’t have been interested in pursuing his attraction, if he’d hid it so well, and Jim had gone and broken the dam. Was that why Sebastian had left so abruptly? He was trying to ignore his attraction, possibly in favor of the person he’d been telling his sister about? 

He had no idea. All he knew was that he _wanted_ Sebastian, it was Sebastian’s fault, and now Sebastian was gone. He’d been gone all night. Jim had waited, sitting at his desk, staring at the door. When morning arrived, he’d remembered with dismay that Brook had work awaiting him. The casting was complete, the set nearly finished, and Trevor wanted everyone to start getting to know one another and working through the creative process. It could take all day. Sebastian could come home at any point during that time. He could _leave_. 

But Jim had work to do. He couldn’t ignore his game with Sherlock because he wanted to sleep with his flatmate and may have instead driven him off. Sebastian was, at best, a minor distraction. Sherlock came first. So Jim had boxed up his fretting, slipped into his Rich Brook persona and gone to work. Throughout the day, his thoughts had drifted to Sebastian, and once or twice his act had slipped and he’d snapped irritably at someone. Thankfully, they’d attributed it to being tired, since they could all see the dark circles under his eyes, and a fibbed excuse of a family emergency the night before had him forgiven. Trevor even let him go at lunch, telling him to get some rest because they’d start work in earnest the following day.

Sebastian hadn’t been home, and Jim had settled in to wait again. He couldn’t focus on other work. It didn’t matter. He needed to find a way to fix things.

It was late evening when the lock clicked and the door swung carefully open. Jim was on his feet immediately. Sebastian stepped in, shut the door, and turned to face him. Jim noted his guarded expression, the way his fingers curled into fists, and the fact that he didn’t show any sign of meaning to take off his boots. Angry. Very. Not good.

“How dare you,” Sebastian said through clenched teeth.

Jim didn’t know what to say. He normally killed people who were angry with him and problematic. This was the first time he wanted to keep one of them around. 

Sebastian took a deep breath, visibly restraining himself. Jim got the impression he ought to be afraid for his safety. “You think you can distract me with a kiss? That playing with my feelings will make me forget that you’re a right bastard who isn’t worth my time?”

Jim bristled. This was not his fault. “You’re the one who’s so bloody fascinating!” He stepped forward, closing the space between them, formulating his next move when he picked up on something he’d missed before. A small bruise on Sebastian’s neck. Jim narrowed his eyes and refocused. Mixed in with the smell of smoke and alcohol that surrounded Sebastian was cheap cologne (which Sebastian never wore) and the acrid smell of sex. 

He forgot everything in his fury. “You slept with someone last night,” he said, leveling a cold glare at Sebastian. He must have run straight to the bloke he was interested in, already making plans to leave Jim behind. 

This time Jim saw the punch coming, but not soon enough to avoid it. He tried to move away, but Sebastian’s fist caught the underside of his jaw, slamming his teeth together so hard he saw stars. He stumbled and fell over backwards, landing hard on his tailbone and elbows. “I am so sick of your _truño_ ,” Sebastian shouted, standing over him. “Get it through your thick skull that what I do on my own time is none of your fucking business. Stop evading conversations by acting like some _chirusa!”_  

Jim tested his jaw, blinking against the pain, then glared dangerously up at Sebastian, catching and holding his gaze. How dare Sebastian insult him like that. How dare he hit him again. _No one_ would ever _dare_ to hit Jim once, let alone _twice_. Jim would kill him on the spot if he didn’t want to kiss him so badly. “You’re the one who _left_ last night!” Jim said, his voice rising. “I wasn’t ‘evading the conversation,’ _moron_ , I just wanted to kiss you!”

Sebastian didn’t move. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter anyway, you went off and shagged someone else. Was it the person you were telling your sister about? Planning to go live with him instead? Do I have to have him killed to keep you here?” He’d just managed to keep Sebastian the last time, what would it take now? Why did Sebastian have to be so difficult?

Confusion replaced some of the anger in Sebastian’s features. He relaxed a little bit, unclenching his fists. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, it really doesn’t suit you,” Jim snapped. He got to his feet and straightened his suit jacket with agitated motions. 

“If you must know, I’d never met the guy before,” Sebastian bit out. 

What? Jim peered at him. “Then why did you have sex with him?”

“Because I didn’t want to have sex with you!”

The words hit Jim as hard as Sebastian’s fist had. A stranger was preferable, even though Sebastian was attracted to Jim? “Why?” he demanded. He needed to know. It didn’t make sense. It needed to make sense. What did he miss? 

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair. “This is exactly why this is never going to work,” he muttered to himself. Before Jim could say anything, Sebastian stepped forward, grabbed hold of the front of Jim’s jacket, and looked him right in the eye. “Tell me why you kissed me,” he asked slowly, tone dangerous.

“It doesn’t matter.” Their sudden close proximity undermined some of Jim’s anger. The smell of the other man, a stranger, all over Sebastian was too much. Jim wanted to erase that scent and replace it with his own, wanted to mark Sebastian as his so everyone else would know to keep their hands off. 

“ _La concha de tu madre,_ Jim!” Sebastian said emphatically. “It matters. Now _tell me.”_

Jim frowned. Did Sebastian want Jim to tell him that it meant nothing, that it was a game or an experiment, so they could go back to the way things were and he could continue to ignore his attraction? Well, too bad. Jim was feeling spiteful, and undeniably aroused. Possessive desire was pooling in his loins, making him hard and distracting his thoughts. Forget saying something just to keep the peace. Sebastian was getting the truth. “I already told you, you clot. You’re fascinating! Unpredictable! Infuriating! And so fucking sexy.”

Something in Sebastian’s expression cleared. He pulled Jim closer and kissed him firmly on the lips. Jim pulled back and stared at him, bewildered.

“You berk,” Sebastian said. He kissed Jim again, roughly. Then he pulled back enough to rest his forehead against Jim’s and look him in the eye, “I was telling Luisa about _you.”_

Oh. _Oh._ Jim ruined what could have been a tender moment and pulled Sebastian down for another kiss, teeth clacking and lips moving together hungrily. When they broke for air, he snarled, “Then _why_ didn’t you want to have sex with me?” Despite everything, the need to make sense of their situation persisted. 

”Don’t _even_ get me started,” Sebastian growled. He stepped into Jim, pressing himself close, and Jim could feel his hardness through the layers of clothing that separated them. Too much clothing, he thought, and pulled Sebastian’s shirt free from his trousers.

“ _Tell me_ ,” he hissed through his teeth. He needed to know as much as he needed to have his way with Sebastian.

Sebastian shoved Jim’s jacket off his shoulders and pushed it down, trapping Jim’s arms against his sides. “To start with, you’re an unrepentant arse,” he growled in Jim’s ear. 

“I did warn you of that,” Jim said sharply. He wiggled his arms free and tried to turn away to hang the jacket on his desk chair, but Sebastian pulled him back with firm hands on his hips. 

“Just drop it,” Sebastian said firmly. When Jim opened his mouth to protest, Sebastian shut him up with his lips and his tongue. Jim didn’t wait this time. He returned the attention in kind, forcing Sebastian to let him do the exploring. Sebastian tasted like cheap alcohol and coffee, which Jim found disgusting, but he was too caught up in the kiss to care. Jim realized dimly that he’d dropped his jacket to the floor as he shoved his hands under the edge of Sebastian’s shirt. 

“That’s my Westwood,” Jim complained. 

“It’ll survive.” Sebastian stepped into Jim, his hardening erection rubbing against Jim’s. Jim gasped and allowed himself to be pushed back a few steps before pushing Sebastian away. Sebastian held loosely onto Jim’s shirt and searched his face, concerned. 

Jim rolled his eyes. “Shoes,” he said pointedly. 

“For God’s sake,” Sebastian muttered. He crouched down and quickly unlaced his boots. “That’s another thing. You are the most obsessively controlling person I know. Everything doesn’t have to be perfect and in its place all the time!”

”Yes, it does!” Jim insisted. If things weren’t right, he couldn’t _think._  

Sebastian stood up and kicked off his boots. “Maybe when you live alone, but it’s bloody inconsiderate when you’ve got a flatmate!”

“It wouldn’t be a problem if you’d leave my things alone! It’s not like you have enough of anything to make a mess with.” Jim was quickly getting annoyed. He wanted to shag Sebastian into the mattress, not argue about flat rules. 

Sebastian, fortunately, didn’t seem to have changed his mind. “That’s you being right selfish, there,” he said, closing the distance between them again. He took initiative and started undoing Jim’s belt. He was practiced at it, and the observation filled Jim with anticipation. 

He reached around Sebastian’s arms to work on Sebastian’s belt, impatient. He was already painfully hard, and could see Sebastian’s obvious arousal as well. All this _talking_ , it was taking too long. “Oh, just shut up and take off your shirt,” he snapped.

“I’m not done yet,” Sebastian said. He grabbed Jim’s hips, then slid one hand down into the front of his trousers and firmly grasped Jim’s erection. The spike of pleasure was so sharp and sudden that Jim had to hold onto Sebastian’s arm to keep himself steady. Sebastian leaned down and planted another rough kiss on Jim’s mouth. “And you are going to listen to me,” he said against Jim’s lips. 

“Then hurry up,” Jim snapped. He reached for Sebastian’s waist, wanting to rid him of his trousers, but Sebastian gave his erection another squeeze, harder this time, and obviously a warning. Jim was suddenly, _acutely_ aware that a trained assassin had a firm grip on his cock. He clutched at Sebastian and did not move. 

“I moved in here because you’re dangerous. Because I wanted the thrill and thought you might be the man to finally get the better of me. You may be smarter, but I am stronger and faster and I am perfectly willing to get my hands dirty.” Jim swallowed hard. He was in the hands of a predator just as ruthless as he. The sudden rush of adrenaline made his pulse pound in his ears. “I expected it to be difficult,” Sebastian continued, “but I never expected what I got. You’re intolerable. In any kind of human relationship, there is a give and take, and all you do is take.” Sebastian brought his other hand from Jim’s hip to the side of his neck. His fingers brushed Jim’s skin lightly, a sharp and surprisingly arousing contrast to the vice grip he had on Jim’s penis. His voice softened, dipping into the lower registers. “But I put up with a lot of your crap because you’re fucking adorable when you’re annoyed and when you’re in a good mood you’re actually a lot of fun to be around.”

Jim found his voice, which was a lot huskier than he wanted it to be. “You knew from the start I wasn’t going to care about you,” he warned.

Sebastian’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I know. But you obviously want to keep me around, so here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to try a _little bit_ harder to not be a complete arse all the time, you will respect the boundaries I set, and I _might_ stick around. Got that?”

Jim had had enough. “You’re a rubbish blackmailer,” he said. 

“And you’re a rubbish flatmate,” Sebastian shot back. He released his hold on Jim’s erection and leaned down to kiss him heatedly. Jim tangled one hand in Sebastian’s hair to keep him from pulling away and slid the other down Sebastian’s hip, under the waistband of his trousers. His fingers encountered the raised texture he immediately recognized as scar tissue, and he vaguely wondered what had caused it and how many scars Sebastian actually had. He was distracted from further wondering when Sebastian stepped into him once more, guiding him backwards toward the bedroom. _Finally._

They continued to kiss each other hungrily as they clumsily and hurriedly tugged at each other’s clothing, leaving a trail of discarded garments as they went. Jim fumbled behind him for the doorknob, and when the door swung open, Sebastian pushed him backwards and down onto the bed. They both took a minute to shed their pants. Jim was painfully hard, aching with desire. Sebastian was in much the same state. 

Sebastian stepped forward, shoved Jim onto the bed and started to follow, clearly intending to be on top in this encounter. Jim would have none of that. He knocked Sebastian off balance before he’d shifted his weight entirely to the mattress and rolled him over onto his back, straddling his hips. He held onto Sebastian’s shoulders and ground his hips down. Sebastian’s cock was hot on his and the friction sent a sharp thrill of feeling all the way down to his toes. Sebastian inhaled sharply and wrapped his hands tightly around Jim’s wrists. Jim ground his hips against Sebastian’s again, then suddenly found himself being swung around onto his back. 

He hit the bed hard. Sebastian pinned him there with a heavy knee on his stomach and his wrists held down above his head. Jim thrashed about in an attempt to get free, but Sebastian was significantly stronger than him, and didn’t budge. He just glared at Jim, waiting.

Jim glared back.

Sebastian still didn’t move. 

Jim got impatient and stopped struggling. He wanted sex and he wanted it now, and it was apparent that Sebastian would torture him with waiting until he got his way. “ _Fine_ ,” he muttered.

Sebastian released his hands, stroked his cheek, then leaned in for another heated kiss. 

The problem with kissing Sebastian was that Sebastian was a master. He was rough and insistent and it was always a fight for control but it still sent shivers of pleasure down Jim’s spine and heightened his need to have his way with Sebastian right at that instant. It drove all other thoughts out of his mind: momentary, blissful, intensely single-minded quiet. He couldn’t even bring himself to protest when Sebastian used his own saliva as lubricant. All that mattered was the sensation of Sebastian’s hand slicking him up, and the friction of their dicks as Sebastian held them together, rutting against him. Jim lifted his hips in response, lost in the moment, in the growing tension as he approached climax. 

It was over quickly. Sebastian came first, leaving a thick stream of semen across Jim’s stomach. Then he reached between them and finished Jim off with a few quick strokes. For a few seconds Jim couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, as his orgasm flooded through him. He knew in that moment with iron conviction that he would never kill Sebastian, that he would keep him always. 

Sebastian collapsed onto Jim briefly, then rolled off of him and panted heavily at his side. Jim listened to his breathing, feeling pleasantly tingly and basking in the sleepy, fuzzy sensation. He flipped over onto his stomach to get more comfortable and watched Sebastian. 

Jim frowned. Sebastian didn’t look happy and contented, like he ought to. He was stretched out on his back, one arm angled over his head, staring at the ceiling in resignation. As Jim’s brain began to come back online, he thought over what Sebastian had said before. It had been practically a confession, of secret feelings that he knew he shouldn’t share. Sebastian knew about Jim, knew he couldn’t care for people as anything other than tools or distractions, and was going to stay anyway. Jim was flattered. He’d be sure to take full advantage of it. 

His stomach was starting to feel gross and sticky, and as he cooled off, the layer of sweat on his skin was no longer comfortable. He pushed himself up and started toward the bathroom.

“Jim?” Sebastian said.

“Shower. There’s a change of bedding in the wardrobe. Take care of that, will you?”

Jim showered quickly and thoroughly. He loved sex, he did, but it was messy and Sebastian’s makeshift lube was simply unhygienic. He wouldn’t be able to sleep if he wasn’t clean. When he was finished, Sebastian took a turn. The duvet cover had been changed and the bed remade, which surprised Jim. He hadn’t actually expected Sebastian to do it. Most men would rather drift off to sleep after sex and deal with it later. 

He dressed in his pyjamas, folded back the duvet and slid in between the cool bedsheets. He started to drift off as soon as his head hit the pillow, but the sound of Sebastian exiting the bathroom caught his attention. He turned over and watched Sebastian pull on a clean pair of pants and walk over to his cot. “Tiger, what are you doing?” Jim asked drowsily.

Sebastian didn’t look at him. “Going to bed.”

“Not over there, you’re not.” That got Sebastian’s attention. He turned sharply and shot Jim a surprised but skeptical look. Jim lifted the edge of the sheet in clear invitation. Sebastian hesitated for a moment, then climbed into Jim’s bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. Jim waited for him to get comfortable, then shifted toward him and wrapped one arm around his chest and rested his cheek against Sebastian’s shoulder. Sebastian stiffened for a moment before relaxing and working his own arm underneath Jim in order to hold him. 

“Didn’t take you for a cuddler,” Sebastian remarked. 

“Shut up and sleep,” Jim murmured. 

 


	11. Day Thirteen: Afterglow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd.

For the first time in years, Sebastian woke slowly. Jim was still asleep, his limbs all tangled up with Sebastian’s. It was warm, it was comfortable, it was safe. He was snuggled up with someone he was growing dangerously fond of, someone who he didn’t have to tiptoe around and lie to about his job, someone who was even less likely to be threatened by Sebastian’s enemies than Sebastian was himself. It was everything he ever wanted, and he knew it wouldn’t last.

A lump settled in Sebastian’s throat. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t thought he’d find anyone, not after Pablo. But Jim. Jim was wonderful. They fit well together, even if they were likely to continue to argue over idiotic things. Sebastian apparently met Jim’s needs, but Jim was completely incapable of giving Sebastian what he needed most. It would always be a one-sided, unbalanced relationship and Sebastian would always get the short end of the stick. He shouldn’t do this. He really, really shouldn’t.

Jim stirred, momentarily snuggling closer to Sebastian, then opened his eyes. Most people, on seeing their lover obviously unhappy about something upon waking, would ask what was bothering them. Jim, however, wasn’t most people. “Seb, I want eggs. Make breakfast while I get ready for work.”

* * *

 

Sebastian knew it was a bad idea to sit around at home alone all day while Jim was off working. He’d only dwell on last night, and all the things he should have done but didn’t. He needed something else to focus on until Jim came home and he could remind himself why he was going through with this. The empty flat with its impeccable tidiness and oppressive quiet only reminded him of all of Jim’s bad qualities, of all the reasons he should get out while he still could, and of all his own doubts. But he knew he couldn’t, and he needed Jim’s smile, his awful music, incessant whining and perplexing trust to remind him why it was worth it. 

So he cleared a target with Jim over breakfast, and not long after, the two of them left for work together. The shop Sebastian needed to set up in (closed on Saturday, rubbish security system) was on the way to wherever the hell Jim was going, so they shared a cab. The ride was silent; Jim was busy emailing people from his phone. There was something strangely domestic about it which left Sebastian hoping for at least a glance from Jim as he climbed out of the cab. Jim, of course, ignored him completely.

It took longer than usual for him to settle into the calm frame of mind necessary for his work. His thoughts kept drifting to Jim, to last night, to how nothing had really changed but he had so much more at stake. So he took extra care in inspecting and assembling his rifle, letting the familiar, meditative motions soothe his racing mind. He opened the window, settled the gun into position, and found the right window across the street. One floor down from him, the first floor of the small, independent art gallery. The target, Ima Pyrate, was a woman in her late 20’s, the gallery director. She gave daily tours of the various exhibits. There was particular interest in the opening of the postmodern collection later that day. Some of the pieces in it were obtained illegally, and Ima, a police informant, was going to go to the authorities and rat out the sellers. One of them had decided he’d rather not be caught, and wanted her out of the picture before she talked. Sebastian had decided it’d be easiest to take her out while she was at work. She’d have protection while at home and commuting, but increasing security at the gallery would tip off the owners that she’d ratted. Too bad for Ima that the crooks already knew.

Within an hour, Sebastian spotted her for the first time. She was speaking to a group of smartly-dressed people, pointing now at one painting and now at another. She wore an atrocious white sunhat with a floppy brim and a purple ribbon tied round it, which had made it difficult to identify her at first because it often obscured her face. Her scarf, however, made it easier: purple to match her hat ribbon, and monogrammed in silver. Stupid woman, making herself identifiable. She really should know better. Didn’t the police educate their informants on basic precautions?

Ima returned to the postmodern exhibit roughly every hour and a half and stayed in that room for fifteen minutes. Sebastian took to texting Jim during the intervals to pass the time. 

_This woman is an idiot. Even by my standards._

_Why the hell would a police informant wear a monogrammed scarf? Is she trying to get herself killed?_

_She has got to be boring those poor people._

_Floppy hats are really annoying when you’re trying to get a mark._

He knew he wouldn’t get a reply. Jim was working on his plans for the detective Sherlock Holmes, and nothing Sebastian could possibly say would be emergency enough to get his attention. Sebastian didn’t know the extent to which Jim would go for his game with Sherlock, but he knew Sherlock would always come first. He felt a sharp pang of jealousy at the thought, and quickly refocused himself on the job at hand. He couldn’t afford distractions, not even during the recurring waits between opportunities to shoot. 

So he texted Jim again. _I think I can get the splatter all over one of the paintings. Might liven it up. Thoughts?_

It wasn’t until the fifth tour that Sebastian finally had a clear shot. This group was smaller than the others had been, so people weren’t completely obscuring his line of fire the entire time they were in the room. It must have gotten warm inside, or the hat had gotten annoying, because she’d taken it off sometime in the last hour and a half. Sebastian watched her carefully, waiting for the opportune moment. And then, it was there. No one in the way, she with her back to a particularly dull painting. He took aim, right between the eyes, and fired. 

It happened quickly, but Sebastian could see the stages. First came the shattering of glass, as the bullet passed through the window. Ima stopped talking, stopped moving, and just stood there with a bleeding bullet-hole in her face. Then came the splatter of blood and brain matter, drenching the canvas behind her in shades of crimson. After that, she crumpled to the ground, and then, only then, did the witnesses scatter in panic. He could hear them screaming. He didn’t have much time.

The gun came apart in less than thirty seconds, and in the next thirty it was carefully stowed in its well-disguised case. Then he wiped down the window and sill as he closed it all up, erasing traces of his presence. Within minutes, he was outside on the opposite side of the building, sneaking through the alley onto the next street over. No one paid him any mind. He could hear the sirens closing in on the gallery. A job well done. Perhaps it was time to collect his pay and get himself something to eat. 

* * *

 

Sebastian chose to walk home that evening to avoid the rush hour traffic, his gun case slung idly over his shoulder with the strap he’d affixed to it. To anyone who didn’t know better, it looked like he was carrying a musical instrument, so he wasn’t worried someone would see it. 

The streets were thrumming with people. Sebastian kept himself occupied by watching them, one eye on the lookout for other hunters, the other picking out people who would be easy to identify through a sniper scope. He’d gotten to fourteen definite kills—idiotic people so concerned with individuality, completely unaware of the predators in their midst—three potential survivors, and two people who he was certain had taken a life when his mobile buzzed in his pocket, signaling a text message.

He pulled out the phone and felt a wave of joyful anticipation when he saw it was from Jim. A moment later he was disgusted with himself. One shag, and he was already falling head over heels. It wasn’t decent, and worst of all, it was dangerous. He was going to get himself heartbroken or killed. Or both. 

The message itself was a snapshot of the painting he’d decorated with the contents of Ima’s head just an hour or so previously. He suspected the photograph had been nicked from the police. Accompanying were three words that sent Sebastian’s heart racing and put a crooked smile on his face: _Nice work, Tiger._

Jim had noticed his work. He had taken the time to show his appreciation. That was more than Sebastian had ever expected from Jim. It made him feel giddy, which set off alarm bells in his head. _Mierda_. There was no hope. He was falling and falling hard. He needed to call in a favor before he was in too deep. With a heavy sigh, he flipped through his contacts and dialed Dan.

Two rings, then the telltale click of the connection. “Dan, I have gotten myself into one hell of a mess.”

“Now what, Ian?” Dan asked in a long-suffering tone.

“You know how it’s a good rule of thumb to avoid getting personally involved with a psychopath? And how it’s a good rule of thumb to similarly avoid being involved with an employer?” Skipping around the issue. Sebastian would have told himself to get to the point and hung up by now. Thankfully, Dan wasn’t like that. 

“You’re personally involved with a psychopath. Who is also your employer,” Dan said, straightforward as always. “Let me guess: Jim Moriarty.” Sebastian wasn’t surprised that Dan had figured it out right away. Dan had always been perceptive. When Sebastian didn’t deny it, he went on, “You really have no sense of self-preservation. You stretch my brain capacity just trying to keep you alive.”

“ _Dios_ , I know, I’m an idiot. You don’t have to worry, though. I’m ninety percent certain he has no intention of killing me, considering how hard he’s been trying to get me to stay.” Sebastian swore inwardly; here he was, already jumping to defend his actions, to defend Jim. This was, without a doubt, going to end poorly.

“Ninety percent—pretty good, for someone in our line of work. Though I can’t say that I find that terribly reassuring, considering who we’re talking about.”

Sebastian recalled one of the jobs he’d had for Jim, as a sniper at the pool where he confronted Sherlock Holmes, when Jim had declared himself to be _“so_ changeable!” and had to agree with Dan’s assessment. That didn’t get him off the defensive, though. “Yeah, well, living with the guy lets you see a whole new side to him.” 

“Forgive me for not jumping at the opportunity to do so myself,” Dan said wryly. 

“I may have been feeling risky,” Sebastian conceded. “It may have been an incredibly stupid thing to do.”

“May have been?” Dan practically groaned. “Do try to remember some of the sense I pounded through your thick skull.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sebastian said. He had made it to the building the flat was in.  Time to get to the point of this call. “Do me a favor?”

“What favor?”

“I promise that if he shows any sign of changing his mind about me, I’ll throttle him in his sleep,” he said, pushing through the front door, “if you promise to remind me that it’s my own damn fault when all this blows up in my face.” 

“Oh, you can be sure I’ll remind you,” Dan promised. “After watching the fireworks, of course.”

Typical Dan. Sebastian rolled his eyes and hit the button for the lift. “Thanks. I’m going to need that. I should’ve gotten out as soon as I realized where I was headed.”

“What a novel idea—not walking into a stupid situation,” Dan teased. “But you wouldn’t be Ian without getting yourself into these sorts of scrapes. I’ll do you one better—when this little situation implodes, I’ll get you out of Britain for a bit, provided you survive.” 

The lift arrived and Sebastian quickly got in, hitting the button for the fifth floor. The doors closed behind him and he was carried swiftly upwards. “I owe you one, Dan. I’m doomed, but at least I can say I’ve gotten away with slugging the infamous Jim Moriarty in the face. Twice. Possibly worth it.” He chuckled at the memory.

“Its only worth it if you live to brag about it,” Dan said. He was serious now, all joking aside. Sebastian refrained from pointing out that he was bragging about it now. “It would be so many times easier to keep you out of trouble if I weren’t on another continent. . . “

The lift stopped on the fifth floor and Sebastian stepped out and went down the corridor towards his door. He fished his keys out of his pocket, nearly dropping both his gun case and his phone in the same action. “It’s not your job to keep me out of trouble, you know that,” he told Dan. They’d had this conversation countless times in the past five years. Dan, however, had continued to pull Sebastian from the various wreckages of his life and decisions and showed no inclination towards changing his ways. Sebastian knew, if Dan ever needed it, he’d do the same in return. He and Dan were close like that. “But I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again: I don’t die easily. There will be plenty of time to brag.” Having successfully retrieved his keys from his trousers, he unlocked the door and let himself inside. He set down his gun case as he closed the door behind him and knelt to unlace his boots. Jim was sitting on the sofa, in his usual spot in the corner, and swiveled around to look at him when he arrived. To Sebastian’s surprise, Jim was smiling, but his smile quickly faded when he saw Sebastian was on the phone. The pout on his face just made Sebastian grin. 

Dan was talking, and Sebastian quickly refocused his attention. “And I’ve told you before, you’re an idiot. I find it easier to _keep_ you out of trouble than to dig you out after the fact. Trying to save myself some work here.” He sighed heavily, then muttered, half to himself, “Maybe I should just make you move back in with me when this is all over.”

The thought was not an unpleasant one. Sebastian had lived with Dan while he was learning his way around the world of a mercenary, and the two of them had quickly bonded. Dan was like a brother to Sebastian, but one he could actually confide in and work with because he already shared the perils of the job. “Hah. Maybe.” He slipped out of his boots and took his gun case to the kitchen table. He’d have to clean and oil his rifle before he went to bed, but for the moment, it could wait. He glanced at Jim, who was still pouting at him, obviously desirous of his attention. “Look, I’ve gotta go, Jim’s giving me the puppy eyes over something and he’ll get annoyed if I keep him waiting. But thanks. I really do owe you a lot. Anytime you need a favor, give me a call.”

“Done. Go play with your psychopath. I’ll catch up with you later. And on the topic of moving back in, I want that paella recipe. Email it.”

Sebastian grinned. His mother’s secret recipe, and it was one of Dan’s favorite dishes. He must have been missing it since Sebastian came back to London on his own. “Sure thing. Just don’t let anyone in my family know. Mamá would kill me if she knew I shared it.”

“All in a day’s work. Bye.”

“ _Adios.”_

Sebastian ended the call, set his phone on the table with his gun, and went over to Jim. “What’s up?” he asked.

Jim frowned. “Who were you talking to?”

Sebastian dropped onto the sofa next to him, close enough that their legs brushed. “Dan.”

“He knows your family,” Jim said. Sebastian recognized the familiar, calculating look on his face. Jim was planning something. 

That would have to come to an end. There was no way Jim was meeting Sebastian’s family. “He knows my family because a job went bad in Spain and my hometown made a convenient bolt hole. I’d take you to say hello, but I’m not welcome there anymore, and I’d really prefer to avoid the inevitable confrontation.”

The disappointment was clear in Jim’s face; the corners of his mouth turned down, and some of the mischievous twinkle went out of his eyes. Sebastian didn’t feel bad about that. He didn’t want the two halves of his life to intersect anymore than they already had. There was nothing Jim would be able to do to convince him to change his mind. 

“I can’t find him. Why is that?” Jim asked suddenly. 

Sebastian leaned back against the cushions and stretched his arms along the back of the couch. “Because he’s been in this business a lot longer than I have. I might be the better shot with a sniper rifle, but he’s the better mercenary by far.”

“You’ve worked with him before,” Jim said.

Sebastian laughed. “You could say that.”

Unexpectedly, Jim shifted and leaned against Sebastian. “Tell me about him.”

“Are you fishing for information so you can find him? I’d seriously advise against it. Either he’d kill you or you’d end up killing him, and either way I’d be furious, so it’s really not in your best interest.” The thought of Jim going up against Dan was a terrifying one. Chances were, neither would come out alive.

Jim elbowed him in the side. “I’m trying to figure you out, stupid,” he explained. 

Oh. Well. That was flattering and unexpectedly honest of Jim. Sebastian faltered for a moment, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He couldn’t (would he ever be able to make sense of Jim?) and settled for draping his arm around Jim’s shoulders. “If I’m to be completely honest, Dan’s the reason I’m here right now. You should probably thank him, if you ever meet him.” Jim hummed, but didn’t say anything. “He’s my mentor. That’s the best word for it, I think. Got me into the mercenary business, kept me out of too much trouble while I was learning my way. About five years ago, it was. He saved my life and showed me the ropes.”

“Not many mercenaries stay close with their mentors,” Jim remarked. 

“Yes, well, neither of us is a typical mercenary.” Sebastian replied. “Enough about Dan, though. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“Finalized the details of a plan,” Jim said happily. Sebastian couldn’t see anything but the top of Jim’s head, but he was sure he was smiling. 

“Is the the Brook plan?”

“Yes. It’s come together nicely. I’ll be setting it in motion tomorrow.”

Sebastian knew what that meant. On top of his work for his alias and whatever other projects he was managing, Jim would have to devote time to this plan. He’d be busy. Very busy. Sebastian wasn’t looking forward to it. “Think you can do any better at Halo a second time around?” he asked on impulse.

Jim sat up and regarded him seriously. “Of course.”

Sebastian set up the game and passed Jim his controller. If they didn’t have much time, they’d at least make the most of it.

 


	12. Day Nineteen: Assistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd

Jim’s phone rang, startling him from his thoughts. He looked at the number and groaned. Bobby. Again about the hospital. Bobby was an idiot American who occasionally had brilliant and unique ideas. It was the planning and follow-through that he had difficulty with, and Jim had made quite a profit off him in the past. It was great fun watching his ideas take shape, baffling the world. But Jim didn’t have time for him right now.

“Yes, what is it this time?”

He glanced at the time on his computer, then rubbed his face wearily. Four in the bloody morning. He should have been asleep ages ago. 

“What? No, don’t be stupid. You’ll need at least three people.”

It had taken most of the night to sort out the logical problems of using event horses to smuggle drugs and he needed to crack a code for a terror cell in the next twenty four hours. Normally it would be a cake walk, easy peasy, but he’d been spending most of every day on set as Brook and the rest of the time juggling his normal workload with finalizing plans for Sherlock’s ultimate defeat. Sebastian had taken to leaving meals ready for him whenever he had a spare moment to eat. The fact that he did this without Jim telling him to was appreciated, but unmentioned. 

“Hm, C4 would work best in that case. Thermite is too messy. I can put you in touch with an explosives expert in your area.”

It’d gotten so bad that when Steve Michaels in Australia had a gaping hole in his plan (poisoning unpasteurized milk so that he could sell the cure) which could be filled with a competent sniper, Jim had immediately sent Sebastian to take care of it rather than spending the time to find someone local. That was three days ago, and that very night he’d regretted it when he’d come home at two in the morning and no food was waiting for him. After three seconds’ consideration, he’d decided sleep was more pressing. 

“Why would you need that many llamas? Why would even need _one_ llama? You’re not opening a petting zoo!”

That was one thing he admired Sherlock for, his ability to keep functioning for days on end without sleep. Jim had never trained himself to do that, and it was starting to become a problem. He glanced at the clock again. Half past. At the rate this phone call was going, it would take the rest of the night. It might be easier to just have someone shoot Bobby than listen to more of his stupidity. He could take the financial loss, and there were other ways to entertain himself. He could get a new pet project. 

“Did you even _look_ at the plans I sent you?”

The door unlocked and cautiously swung inward. Jim muted the phone and looked up. Sebastian stepped inside and nodded to him before setting down his travel bag and gun case, then bending down to unlace his boots. “How’d it go?” Jim asked, mostly tuning out Bobby.

“Like you said it would,” Sebastian answered. “Three people dead, thirteen thoroughly sick, and one antimicrobial cure sold to the government. I had to put a bullet in Michaels’ wife, though, she was going to squeal.”

“I thought she would.”

“I convinced him it was bad for his health to send a strongly worded email to you about it.”

Jim cracked a brief smile. He’d missed Sebastian’s understated humor. Then Bobby said something particularly problematic and he refocused his attention. “No, that’s a terrible idea, you moron!” he started. But Bobby was ignoring him. No. Wait. He’d muted the phone and forgotten to fix it. He did that and started again. “Just shut up, you imbecile, and _listen!_ I sent you a plan. It’s a good plan. It doesn’t need llamas or volatile explosives or any other idiotic changes you are obviously hellbent on making. This is going to be the most difficult of your ideas to pull off, and if you don’t do it right, you’ll get yourself killed and I’ll have wasted a lot of my very valuable time on you. I don’t think your parents would want to deal with the aftermath of that, do you?”

Bobby started to stammer a reply, but Jim didn’t hear it because Sebastian walked over to him and plucked the phone right out of his hand. “Hey, you, listen up,” Sebastian said to Bobby. “No, I haven’t done anything to Moriarty. He’s been called away on more important business. How about you try calling back in twelve hours or so? Thanks.” He ended the call and set the phone down on the desk, then studied Jim’s face for a moment or two. Jim tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened. Sebastian had never, _never_ dared to interfere with his work before.

“What—“

“When was the last time you ate?” Sebastian interrupted. 

Jim couldn’t really recall. “There were croissants on set today,” he said.

Sebastian frowned, then went into the kitchen. Jim considered following him, decided it was too much effort, and leaned on his desk, staring at his computer. The code he needed to unravel stared back at him from the screen. The letters swam in front of his eyes. “Damn it all!” he said, shutting the laptop with a bit too much force. This was not happening until he got some sleep.

“Everything alright?” Sebastian called from the kitchen.

“No, everything is _not_ alright!” Jim ranted. All of his frustration was bubbling to the surface. Every annoyance, every lost minute of sleep, every second spent in the company of the dull, dim-witted creatures that called themselves human beings. “I don’t know why I’m even _bothering_ with this anymore! You can give someone a perfect plan to scam a government out of millions and the moment you look away they completely ruin it! And when it goes wrong, they try to blame you for it! And the _people_ Brook works with. Simpering fools, all of them. I want to string them all up along the set and leave them to rot!” 

Sebastian reappeared from the kitchen carrying a small plate with two slices of buttered toast on it. This he handed to Jim. “Are you supposed to be at the studio again today?” he asked. 

Jim absently picked up a slice of toast an took a bite. Instantly, he was reminded of how hungry he was. “In two and a half hours,” he answered between bites. Sebastian nodded and reached around him to pull open the desk drawer and remove the Brook phone. “What are you doing?” Jim asked suspiciously.

Sebastian didn’t answer. Jim tried to see what he was doing with the phone, but Sebastian angled it away from him. He debated wrestling it from Sebastian’s grasp, but his stomach gurgled uncomfortably and he decided the toast was more important. He finished off the first piece and started on the second, watching as Sebastian pulled out his own mobile and dialed a number. 

“Oh, good, I’m glad you didn’t answer,” Sebastian said into his phone after a minute. “It’s very early, after all. Anyway, Mr Marshall, I’m Rich Brook’s partner, Sebastian. I’m calling because he’s taken ill, and I’m keeping him home today. I know it probably ruins the filming schedule, but I don’t think he’d last the day if he came in. He should be back on his feet by Monday. Thanks for your understanding.”

Jim blinked. Had Sebastian really just done that?

Sebastian returned the Brook phone to the desk drawer. Yes, he definitely had. He’d made himself part of the alias. That would complicate matters. But the way he’d done it, that was confusing.  

“Finish that off, go on,” Sebastian said, gesturing at the remaining chunk of toast. Jim did as he was told, still marveling at Sebastian’s uncharacteristic forwardness. He was usually sneaky about getting Jim to do things, and left him to fend for himself most of the time. This was strange and Jim wasn’t thinking coherently enough to properly analyze it. 

“Why did you do that?” he asked.

“Because that great big brain of yours is running on empty, and you obviously haven’t been sleeping while I was gone,” Sebastian answered. He retreated to the door to get his bags and then ushered Jim toward the bedroom. “Go on now, bedtime.”

The call to Trevor was still bothering Jim. Sebastian could easily have said he was Jim’s flatmate. Or brother. “You said you were my partner,” he said. He went into the bedroom ahead of Sebastian and sank down onto the edge of the bed.

“So?” Sebastian shoved his bags under his cot and went into the dresser after Jim’s pyjamas, which he tossed onto the duvet next to Jim. “Here, get changed.”

Jim blinked at his pyjamas, then stood up again and started to strip. Sebastian took his suit and folded it neatly on top of the dresser. That was. . . Good. Yes, good. 

“We’ve only had sex once,” Jim pointed out.

“Yes, well, you’ve been busy, coming to bed after I’m asleep and all,” Sebastian said. 

Getting dressed again seemed like effort. Jim made the executive decision to crawl right under the covers in his pants. Blearily, he watched as Sebastian shrugged, put the folded-up pyjamas on top of the suit, then stripped down himself and went to climb into his cot.

“No,” Jim said. Sebastian had been sleeping in his cot every night. It was annoying. He was Jim’s, he should sleep in Jim’s bed. Especially since Jim hadn’t seen him for three days and wanted to make sure he remembered whose he was. “Come here.”

Sebastian looked at him strangely, then joined him in bed. Jim snuggled close to him. The feeling of his skin on Sebastian’s was remarkably calming. He shifted a bit when Sebastian turned on his side and pulled Jim against his chest. “Get some sleep, Jim,” Sebastian whispered in his ear. 

Jim drifted off quickly, one thought in his mind. He wasn’t sending Sebastian out of the country again. Sebastian belonged there, with him.

* * *

 

When Jim awoke, he was alone, shivering under the blankets and assaulted by body aches. He cracked his eyes open and looked around the room. Sebastian had pulled the curtains tightly shut, but there was the telltale glow of muted sunlight behind them. He didn’t keep a clock in the bedroom, so he had no idea what time it was. He was probably late to the studio and. . . Wait, no, Sebastian had called him out. Good thing, too, there was no way he was going to be functional enough to act today. What remarkable foresight Sebastian had. 

But where was he? There wasn’t any sound coming from the bathroom, and his cot was empty. The bedroom door was firmly shut, but Jim could hear what sounded like a voice from the other side. He sat up and the room spun. After a few moments, the dizziness abated, and he carefully got up and retrieved his pyjamas. It was too damn cold to wander around in his pants.

Sebastian was leaning against the back of the sofa, talking on a phone. “Look, I understand you’re on a schedule. But if he doesn’t take a couple days to rest, he’ll end up in hospital, and that will be worse for your schedule than one day without him.” He glanced up at Jim, worry lining his face. _You alright?_ he mouthed at Jim.

Jim started to nod, which was a very bad idea. He grabbed the doorframe and hung on for dear life. Sebastian swore and was by his side in a moment, a supportive arm slung around his shoulders and pressing the back of the other hand to Jim’s forehead. “Look, Mr Marshall, I understand you’re frustrated. But I was away for a few days and missed the warning signs, and you know how he throws himself into his work. He didn’t even notice he was getting ill,” Sebastian said into the phone, which he was holding between his shoulder and ear with surprising ease. Jim was impressed. He let Sebastian help him to the sofa, listening with interest as he continued to argue with the director on Jim’s behalf. “He has a fever and can barely stay on his feet. I promise you, you don’t want him today. And if you’d stop arguing with me so I can get him some medicine, I’ll have him well again by Monday. Understand?”

Jim sank onto the cushions gratefully. He could do sitting. Sebastian was standing in front of him, looking right past him as he listened to Trevor Marshall. Jim could imagine the fuss he was making. “Keep it up, and you’ll be lucky if I let him come back at all,” Sebastian snapped. “This conversation is over. Don’t call again.” He ended the call without waiting for a response. Jim noticed he was using the Brook phone. Trevor must have tried to get in touch with Brook and wouldn’t have been happy to get Sebastian. Now that the real work was underway, Trevor had cast aside all leniency and was becoming more and more like a dictator every day. Jim was glad to see him put in his place.

Sebastian disappeared briefly, then returned with a glass of water and a paracetamol tablet. Jim accepted them and quickly swallowed the pill. He loathed being ill, and wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. He was glad Sebastian wasn’t making a fuss. There was nothing worse than someone fussing over him. Sebastian had it right; bring him what he needed without being asked, and they’d both survive this day. 

“I’ve got breakfast ready,” Sebastian told him. 

Jim’s frowned. He was slightly nauseated and did not particularly want to eat anything. “Not hungry,” he said. 

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow. “Yes, you are. Come on then.” He took Jim by the arm and pulled him to his feet, steadying him when the vertigo returned. “See? You can’t even keep on your feet. You’re starving.” Jim pouted the entire time Sebastian was guiding him to the kitchen table and refused to look at the plate of scrambled eggs with toast that Sebastian put on the table in front of him.

The washing up occupied Sebastian for a good five minutes before Jim got bored. “Sebbie,” he whined. Sebastian continued with the dishes. “Sebbie, I’m bored.” Still nothing. Sebastian was ignoring him. “Seb, stop that.” It wasn’t going to work. Jim frowned. He knew exactly what Sebastian was doing. He was going to ignore Jim until Jim ate. That wasn’t going to work.

Or maybe it was. Jim didn’t feel well and he wasn’t going to spend the whole day with just himself for company when wonderful, distracting Sebastian was _right there_. He picked up the fork and managed a mouthful of egg. It was good, as usual. Sebastian’s cooking was superb, and lately he’d been tailoring it to Jim’s tastes. A moment after he’d swallowed it, his hunger hit him full force. Carefully, so as not to give in to the urge to scarf the meal down as quickly as possible, he finished the eggs and moved onto the toast. When he was done, he looked at Sebastian expectantly. “Happy now?”

Sebastian just smiled. 

* * *

 

Jim was wrapped in his duvet on the sofa, watching Sebastian play some team-based shooting game. His fever had mostly subsided, and with it the body aches, thanks to the paracetamol, though he still couldn’t walk more than a few steps at a time without something to hold onto. The vertigo seemed like it was going to stick around for a while. Sebastian had made him eat lunch and confiscated his mobile, then wrapped him up on the couch and proceeded to distract him with vulgar trash-talking and disconnected explanations of the rules whenever Jim asked a question. Jim had tried to play, but his focus was off and he got distracted every time his mobile rang on the coffee table.

Like it was doing now. Jim reached for it, got caught in the duvet, and nearly fell off the sofa. Sebastian ignored him and picked it up. “American number,” he said, then answered the call. “Talk.”

Jim couldn’t hear what was being said, but he suspected it was Bobby on the line. It was just about four in the afternoon, twelve hours from the last time he’d called. Bobby probably hadn’t noticed that Jim wasn’t the one who’d answered. He _was_ terribly slow-witted.

“Oh, good, you remember me,” Sebastian said. He was grinning in a predatory fashion that Jim was quickly coming to like. It meant Sebastian felt like he was in control of things, or that he had the upper hand, and was in a playful mood. Playful was good. It tended to result in snogging or people dying. Both of these were high on the list of things Jim liked. 

And apparently Bobby had been angry enough to remember Sebastian’s voice. The fact that he’d noticed at all meant that he’d been doing some serious thinking, and was in a more reasonable frame of mind than he’d been last night. “Give me that,” Jim said. 

Sebastian looked at Jim’s outstretched hand and shook his head, still grinning. “No, you can talk to me. I haven’t killed him in his sleep. Do you really think he’d leave himself open for something like that?”

“No, really, give it to me,” Jim said again. He needed to make sure that Bobby would follow his plan exactly and not do something idiotic like try to include farm animals. As much fun as it would be to let Sebastian take on the moron, it was interfering with his work.

He was, of course, completely ignored. “The boss sent you a plan, right? And you’ve looked it over?” 

Fascinating. Sebastian seemed to be getting down to business without knowing what the business was. Jim lowered his hand and listened. 

“Of course it’s a good plan. No problems with it, nothing missed?” A pause. Then, “So you need to be put in touch with an explosives technician and some skilled mercenaries. I’ll let the boss know. He is very busy right now, but I can assure you he’ll call you back within the next twenty four hours. Is that all? Good. Cheers.” Sebastian ended the call and put the phone back onto the coffee table, just out of Jim’s reach. “You got that, Boss?”

Jim nodded. “Yes. You handled that well.” 

“Then you’ll like the idea I’ve got,” Sebastian said. “Jim, we’ve got to talk.” He settled back against the cushions and wouldn’t look at Jim. “You’ve obviously got too much going on right now, with your Sherlock thing.” Jim was immediately on the defensive. This was it. He was going to fuss. Tell him to drop the plan for Sherlock before it ruined his health or something. Couldn’t Sebastian see that Jim didn’t _care?_ That he’d gladly throw away everything for the distraction Sherlock Holmes provided? He couldn’t turn his back on his nemesis, his arch-enemy, the hero counterpart to his villainy. It would ruin the whole story. Unacceptable.

“And I know that’s important to you,” Sebastian went on, “So I think you should let me help you with the rest of your work. I can handle phone calls, run errands, whatever you don’t have the time or patience for. God knows I’ve got too much of both.”

What? Jim replayed Sebastian’s words in his head. He wanted to. . . Help? With the boring, dull bits of his usual work? That would certainly leave time for Jim to enjoy the fun parts. Jim wouldn’t be able to share the details of any job with him, but Sebastian had just now proven himself to be fully capable of professionally and easily handling a client when he knew nothing about the situation. 

This was. . . Promising. However. . . “I’ve already got assistants.”

“Yes, but I actually live with you. I can be a go-between.” The idea of introducing Sebastian to his assistants, who hadn’t even met Jim himself, was highly amusing. There were a thousand ways he could use the opportunity to frighten them, make sure they stayed loyal. 

“Alright,” he agreed.

Sebastian turned toward him. “That easy?”

Jim shrugged. “Could be fun.”


	13. Day Twenty: Intertwined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd

_“Right there.”_ Impossible as it was to know from a phone call, Sebastian was certain Jim was wearing his cat’s-got-the-cream expression, the mischievously sinister one that made Sebastian’s heart pound. For once, Sebastian was wearing a similar expression (it had been _so_ long since he’d done something just for shits and giggles) which he fought to get under control before he acted.

He ended the call and tucked his phone into his trouser pocket. Serious face now, he thought. Can’t go into this giggling, or it will never work. He unzipped his light jacket, so that the handgun he carried in a shoulder holster would easily be made visible, and adjusted his sunglasses so that Jim’s tiny, hidden camera would capture all that he saw and transmit it back to the flat. Then he counted to thirty, glanced up and down the corridor to make sure none of the neighbors were about, and carefully tried the door. The knob turned and the door opened smoothly. Unlocked, then. He pushed the door open all the way and stepped inside.

A man of medium height and a build just on the heavy side was standing in the middle of the flat. A brief look of surprise crossed his face when Sebastian came in, quickly replaced by impassive calm. He was about to leave for his “day job,” as Jim had put it, dressed in a sand-colored suit, briefcase in hand. His mobile was pressed to his ear. He watched Sebastian warily and nodded in response to something he’d been told. Then he took the phone from his ear and put it on speaker. 

“Daniel, I’d like you to meet Sebastian Morán. Say hi, Seb!”

Sebastian raised his hand in greeting—“Hi.”—Just enough so that the gun was visible under his jacket. Daniel regarded him with guarded apprehension. 

“Daniel,” Jim went on, “Seb will be handling a lot of the duller aspects of my work from now on. He reports directly to me, understand?”

Daniel met Sebastian’s gaze and nodded a greeting. “Of course, sir.” 

“You’re still handling the Brook work, but Seb is involved now. As Brook’s, shall we say, emergency contact? I’ll text you his information. If you can’t reach me, call him.”

“Understood.” Daniel looked Sebastian up and down, then, as if he found him satisfactory, broke out a dazzling smile. Sebastian was hard-pressed to not roll his eyes. Of course, Sebastian thought. One of Jim’s assistants just _had_ to find him attractive. If he so much as made one flirtatious comment, Sebastian might have to hit him.

Thankfully, Jim could also see Daniel. “Don’t even _think_ about it,” he hissed. “He’s _mine_.” Sebastian’s stomach fluttered. He probably shouldn’t be enjoying Jim’s possessiveness quite this much, but he’d thrown all common sense out the window days ago. 

And besides, Daniel’s reaction was worth it. He frowned and lifted a questioning brow at Sebastian. Sebastian smirked. It took a moment, but then a silent expression of _Oh!_ crossed Danial’s face, quickly followed by one of horror as he put two and two together. It was all Sebastian could do to keep his laughter suppressed until he’d gone back outside. 

* * *

 

_She’s not answering. Go in anyway._

Sebastian imagined Jim’s petulant expression and rolled his eyes before turning his attention to the door. It was locked tightly, but the lock was a simple one, and Sebastian made quick work of it with his lock pick. He let himself into the small sitting room and took a good look around. Dark green rugs covered the hardwood floors between matching blue armchairs and sofa. Paintings and framed posters from various musical productions decorated the walls. But no photographs of family or friends, Sebastian noticed. Smart girl, this one. Close ties to another person only got them killed. 

The sounds of running water and muffled singing drifted through the partially open door on the left. That explained why she wasn’t answering her mobile. Heather was in the shower. Sebastian would just have to wait for her to finish. He settled into the armchair facing the bedroom and sent Jim a quick text explaining the situation. 

Four minutes later, the water stopped running. Sebastian listened to Heather humming to herself as she moved about in the bedroom. Another three minutes passed, then the door swung inward and she stepped out into the sitting room, hair wrapped up in a towel and dressed in nothing but her pants, fuzzy pink slippers and an oversized, button-up shirt. 

Heather noticed Sebastian immediately. She squeaked in fear and tried to scurry backwards into the bedroom, but caught herself on the door and had to cling to it in order to stay on her feet. In the bedroom, Heather’s mobile rang.

“You might want to get that,” Sebastian said casually. “The boss wants to have a word with you.”

The blood drained from Heather’s face. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she muttered. Hesitantly, she went to get her phone. “Hello?” Sebastian heard her say, “Yes, sir.”

A moment later she stepped back out into the sitting room and clicked into speakerphone so Jim could formally introduce them.

“Now if Seb tells you to do something, you do it,” Jim said. 

“Of course, whatever you say,” Heather answered, her voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“You recall how you’ll be killed if you ever cross me?” Jim asked casually.

Heather swallowed hard, hands shaking. “I swear I haven’t, not a thing, honest—“

“Now, now, I never said you did,” Jim interrupted. Sebastian could hear the smile in his voice. “I just wanted you to see the face of the man who’ll do it.” Heather let out another squeak. The poor girl was so frightened she looked as if she were about to faint. Sebastian almost felt bad. Almost.

* * *

 

Karen stood in the middle of her posh studio, wrapped in a white cotton dressing gown with her ginger curls piled on top of her head, looking not at all surprised when Sebastian picked the lock and let himself in. She gave him a brief, calculating glance, the kind that hunters and the (aware) hunted use when they don’t want to let someone know they’re sizing them up or judging what they’re worth. Karen had seniority among Jim’s assistants, so it made sense that she’d developed survival skills. Sebastian suspected the job had a high turnover rate. 

Once Jim had introduced them and explained Sebastian’s role, Karen nodded calmly. “I’m to answer to him as to you, sir, unless you tell me otherwise?” she asked.

“Good girl,” Jim purred. He didn’t purr at just anybody, Sebastian had noticed. Jim must be fond of Karen, on some level. She must do good work. “I’ll text you his number. I’m busy, so cll him when something comes up. He’ll make sure anything important gets to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Karen said. “I assume he’s also to be contacted in the event someone needs to be put down?”

“That’s my girl,” Jim said. “Clever, clever.” No threats, purring, and praise. Jim definitely played favorites. Sebastian wondered vaguely if he ought to feel jealous. 

* * *

 

The new assistant who had replaced Genevieve, was still green. According to Jim, Arnie didn’t quite grasp how serious his job was, and thought it was going to be easy money. He was too confident, and needed to be taken down a peg. Jim was a good judge of character, so Sebastian was inclined to believe him. 

Thus it delighted them both that when Sebastian let himself in, Arnie was eating breakfast in the nude with his girlfriend. Said girlfriend was understandably upset by the intrusion, and ran shrieking into the bedroom. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” Arnie demanded, glaring at Sebastian, his mobile held, seemingly forgotten, away from his ear. 

Sebastian merely lifted an eyebrow and cast his gaze lazily over Arnie’s naked form, lingering a little longer than necessary on Arnie’s groin. At that moment, Arnie’s girlfriend emerged from the bedroom, now fully clothed and clutching her pocketbook tightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but Sebastian beat her too it. “Honey, why didn’t you tell me you wanted an open relationship?” he asked Arnie. “We could have worked something out.”

Arnie spluttered, his face turning an interesting shade of red. His girlfriend shrieked and started hurling verbal abuse at him while she marched to the door. Sebastian was sure that somewhere in the volley of vulgarity she swore to never come back. Arnie, incensed, flipped his mobile shut and slammed it onto the table. “You fucking asshole!” he started. “You utter bastard! I am going to kill you for this!”

Sebastian’s phone rang. It was Jim. Ignoring Arnie, he answered the call. “Hi Boss,” he said, making sure Arnie could her him clearly. “Want me to shoot him now?” Abruptly, Arnie shut up and started listening, his rage leaching away to be replaced by fear. 

“Put me on speaker, Seb.” Sebastian did so. Jim went on, “That was a very stupid thing to do, Arnie.” Arnie’s eyes widened, and he glanced in alarm at his phone, the full realization of what he’d done sinking in: he’d hung up on Jim Moriarty. “I should have Sebastian sink you into the Thames for that.”

“Oh god,” Arnie whispered. “I’m sorry, Moriarty, sir, it’s just that he didn’t even knock, and my girlfriend was here, and—“

“Shut up!” Jim snapped. Arnie shut up. “I’m aware of the circumstances, and I am telling you that I don’t care if you’re being shot at, you _do not hang up on me_.”

He waited until Arnie responded. “Ah, yes, sir. I understand, sir.”

“Think of me as your girlfriend, Arnie,” Jim said languidly. “Your very needy girlfriend. You do everything I tell you, or I will get rid of you. You drop everything when I call, or I will get rid of you. You never, ever do anything that might upset me, or I will get rid of you. Put someone else before me, and I will consider that cheating, and you’ll be summarily gotten rid of. And, just to be clear, by gotten rid of, I mean handed over to Sebastian.” Sebastian cracked his neck for emphasis. Arnie cringed. “You’re lucky, Arnie. So very lucky. You see, it’s tiresome finding a new assistant, and I’ve only just hired you. So I won’t kill you just yet. But disappoint me again, and Sebastian will take great joy in ending your pathetic existence. Understand?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Arnie stammered. 

“Now,” Jim continued. “Seb works for me. You answer to him like you answer to me. If you call me and he answers, you talk to him. If he shows up at your door and tells you to pack your bags because you’re going to Siberia, you pack your bags. Got that?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Good. That’s all.”

Sebastian ended the call and turned to leave with a cheerful wave and a pleasant, “Cheers.” Arnie, naked and humiliated, just watched him go.

* * *

 

“God, Jim, that was priceless,” Sebastian laughed. “The look on his face!”

 _“Good job getting rid of the girl,”_ Jim said. _“Very entertaining.”_

Sebastian chuckled. “That was fun. Do you want me to pick up anything from the shops on the way home?”

_“Not the shops. There is, however, a package I want you to retrieve.”_

The address Jim gave Sebastian led him to an old building. The door he wanted was a side entrance, hidden behind some bins in a dark alley. Typical setting for shady dealings. He knocked, and the door swung inward enough to allow an aging man to peer out. “Heinrich?” Sebastian asked. 

“Who’s asking?” the man rasped in a thick German accent.

“Moriarty.”

The man’s demeanor instantly changed. His eyes crinkled and he let out a low laugh. “Of course, of course. Come in, lad. Little Jim told me you were coming to pick it up.” He ushered Sebastian into a cluttered but organized workspace. There were no windows and no overhead lights, but several small lamps were hung around the space, the brightest of which illuminated the clear space on a workbench on which the pieces of a sniper rifle were laid out. So Heinrich dabbled in firearms. Or perhaps specialized in them. It was hard to tell sometimes. 

Heinrich shuffled over to a cabinet in the far corner and pulled out a long cardboard box. He set it on the workbench and ran a hand across its top fondly. “One of a kind, she is,” he said. “Jim special-ordered her. My best work. Completely illegal, of course, in eighteen countries. Unregistered. As far as the law knows, she doesn’t exist.” He chuckled to himself. “Wanted to pay me for it, but I never could charge him for giving me a challenge like this. It’s an honor simply to be asked. Now then, lad, what’s your name?”

“Morán,” Sebastian answered. He was intrigued by Heinrich. Here was a man fond of his craft, who was good enough to attract business from Jim, and could afford to do work for free. But what was most interesting was the familiarity with which Heinrich referred to Jim. “Little Jim” was not a moniker Jim would let anyone get away with using, which made Heinrich a special case. 

“Morán? Sebastian Morán, by any chance?” Sebastian nodded, and Heinrich grinned. “I’ve always wanted to meet you. Your work is pure art.”

“Thanks,” Sebastian said, uneasy. This wasn’t the first time someone had recognized his name, but every time it happened, it reminded him that the price of his skill was renown. His name was known now, and the continuing loss of his anonymity was detrimental to his relative safety. 

“Why don’t you stay for a cup of coffee?” Heinrich offered. “I’ve just brewed a pot, and I don’t often get visitors nowadays. No one wants to stay and talk to old Heinrich once they’ve got their merchandise.”

Uneasiness aside, the opportunity was too good to pass up. Heinrich knew Jim will enough to be familiar with him. Sebastian was curious. “Sure, I can spare some time.” He followed Heinrich through a curtained-off doorway into a small but cozy living space. There were two chairs with a small square coffee table between them, and a kitchenette off to the side. Heinrich hadn’t been lying: the smell of fresh coffee filled the air.

“Make yourself at home, I’ll just pour you a cup.”

Sebastian settled into one squishy armchair while Heinrich puttered about with the coffee. He joined Sebastian in just a few moments, setting a steaming mug in front of him on the table. “I hope you like it bitter and black,” he said. “I don’t keep sugar or milk on hand.”

“That’s perfect,” Sebastian said. He blew on the coffee, then took a tentative taste. It was warm and strong and very bitter, just the way he liked it, and exactly how he remembered it from his various jobs in Germany. He savored the flavor for a few minutes before nodding appreciatively at Heinrich. Heinrich grinned toothily in response. “So,” Sebastian said, “how did you meet Jim?” Much better, he figured, to just out and ask, than dance around the subject. 

“Ah, it was many years ago,” Heinrich answered. He sipped his coffee and leaned back in the chair, smiling nostalgically. “Jim was just sixteen years old, still finding his way in the world. He was with his family, on holiday in my homeland, when he got into trouble with some mercenaries. I couldn’t let the poor boy meet his end so soon, not with so much potential in him, so I helped him out and gave him some pointers. He’s gone far since.”

Sebastian lifted a questioning eyebrow. “He’s got family? Are they still alive?” This was something he hadn’t considered. Jim didn’t seem the sort to let his family live. They would be a liability, surely, or at least an annoyance. 

Heinrich smiled. “Oh, yes. I’ve met them all, his parents and his brothers. Very nice people.”

* * *

 

Three hours later, Sebastian finally got home with the package. He’d completely lost track of time, swapping stories of Jim’s current tantrums for tales from his younger days with Heinrich. He’d been invited to stop by any time for coffee and a chat, and thought he’d take Heinrich up on it. He was curious about gun-crafting and wouldn’t mine talking about firearms, with him, or even spending an afternoon reminiscing about Germany together. 

“Where’ve you been?” Jim whined when he came through the door.

Sebastian stepped out of his boots and brought the box over to the coffee table. “Heinrich asked me to stay for coffee. Told me how you two met.”

Jim groaned and huddled deeper into his pile of duvet. “You should have come back right away. I was still laughing about Arnie and I wanted tea.”

“I can get that for you now, if you still want it,” Sebastian said.

“Please.”

He filled the kettle and switched it on. “How are you feeling? Better?”

“I’m _bored._ ”

So, better then. Sebastian was extremely grateful that Jim has acquiesced to spending the weekend resting. When he’d made the decision to make an intervention, he’d been worried it would upset the whatever-it-was between the two of them. But Jim had taken it well, and even seemed glad for the attention. His only demands had been Sebastian’s company and that Sebastian take apart his cot and store it somewhere because Jim wasn’t going to let the thing clutter up his room anymore if it wasn’t needed. Both of these demands Sebastian had been more than happy to fulfill. 

When the water boiled and the tea was steeped, Sebastian returned to the sitting room and handed it over to Jim, who accepted it gladly. “Well, hurry up now, open it,” Jim said, gesturing at the box.

“Open it?” Sebastian echoed.

“You sound infantile when you do that,” Jim complained. “It’s for you, go on.”

Right. Jim _would_ do something like send Sebastian to pick up his own, uh, present? Is that what this was? The thought gave Sebastian—and he wouldn’t have admitted it under torture—butterflies. But that couldn’t be right. Jim didn’t _give gifts._ He shook the thoughts from him mind and slipped his folding knife from his back pocket. Carefully, he cut the seals on the box and lifted the top. 

Nestled in the box, inside abundant padding, were the pieces to a gun. A rifle, it looked like. He’d never seen anything like it, and recalled Heinrich’s words: one of a kind. Jim watched with eager attentiveness as Sebastian took the pieces out, examined them, and carefully fit them together. An air rifle, high-powered. He’d need to test its range. There was a smaller box underneath the gun, which he opened to find bullets of a kind he’d never seen before.

“They expand,” Jim said. “Specially made to fit that rifle. You’ll have to get Heinrich to make you new ones.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sebastian breathed. “What’s the occasion?”

“On your application. You said the weapon choices were boring.” Jim grinned. “This one’s not.”

“No. No, it certainly isn’t.” Sebastian ran his palm along the barrel, reveling in the feel of the cool metal on his skin, then carefully took the gun apart again and replaced it in the box. 

“Only use it for jobs I assign you, for now. You’re current rifle is recognizably you, and now that you’re part of Brook’s life, we can’t have you tied to me in any way.” That made sense. But that had happened only yesterday, and it would have taken at least a couple of weeks for a gun like that to be made. He decided not to point that out. It didn’t matter now. 

What mattered was showing Jim exactly how much he appreciated it. He leaned over and kissed Jim, gentle and slow. Jim responded in kind, their breath mingling sweetly. Sebastian wormed his way into the duvet-cocoon to wrap his arms around Jim’s waist. Jim’s hands were tangled in Sebastian’s hair. Sebastian was on the verge of losing all thought to the pleasant sensations of Jim pressed close against him, breath hot on his lips, when a thought struck him. He broke off their kiss, looked Jim in the eye, and asked, “If I’m not supposed to be tied to you, how’re we going to explain me living in your flat?”

“You’re not living in my flat,” Jim said slowly, like he was explaining something to a toddler. “You’re living in Brook’s.”

Sebastian didn’t quite follow. It made sense that Jim didn’t want to risk anything compromising his alias. It wouldn’t look good if Brook’s partner turned out to be an assassin whose work could be traced to several cases linked to the name of Moriarty. That much was obvious. “You’re going to have to tell me what your big secret plan is,” he said.

Jim sighed and untangled his hands from Sebastian’s hair in order to cross his arms petulantly over his chest. “Moriarty doesn’t exist. Sherlock Holmes hired me to play Moriarty so he could show off. You talked me into getting out, but instead of fleeing the country with you I wanted to play the hero and expose the real criminal.”

Comprehension dawned on Sebastian. “And it’d ruin everything if people realized I’m an assassin and had been part of some of Moriarty’s crimes.” Suddenly, Jim’s insistence on _actually_ having an acting job as Brook made sense. It was a clever plan, too. What better way to beat an enemy, one whose intellect rivaled Jim’s own, then to simply hand over the credit for all the crimes and let him handle the consequences? Cases of framing were usually easily disproved, but if anyone could pull it off, it’d be Jim. Sebastian had no doubt about Jim’s eventual success. Sebastian would have to play along, though, and for that to work, he’d need more information. “You’ll have to get me up to speed on all of that,” he told Jim.

“Later,” Jim said impatiently. “Right now I’m going to take you to bed.”

Sebastian liked the sound of that. Jim led him by the hand into the bedroom, where they undressed between long, slow kisses. Sebastian was glad for a chance to really look at Jim. Despite his dislike for “getting his hands dirty” and subsequent preference for more intellectual endeavors, Jim was in good shape. He wasn’t the most muscular guy Sebastian had been with, but Sebastian could feel the strength in his biceps as he slid Jim’s shirt off his arms. He ran his hands across Jim’s well-tones shoulders and pulled him close for another kiss as Jim ran his fingers down Sebastian’s back.

Jim’s hand found the scar on Sebastian’s lower back, where the bullet that sent him home from the army had exited his body. He let Jim examine it a moment, unashamed. As far as he’d seen, Jim didn’t have any noticeable scars. His skin was unmarred. Sebastian’s, however, was a testament to the life he lived, proof he was a survivor. 

Fingers resting lightly on the scar tissue, Jim took a step back and, with his other hand, traced the edge of the matching scar on Sebastian’s stomach. “You were shot,” Jim said. 

“Obviously.”

“This is why you left Afghanistan,” Jim said. Sebastian’s blood ran cold, and he stood very still. Jim was edging dangerously close to a touchy topic, and knowing him, he was about to dive right in.

“Yeah,” Sebastian said.

“But this wouldn’t have impeded your ability to serve at all. Once you recovered, there would have been no reason to keep you from returning to the battlefield.” And with perfect form, Jim got right to the point. Sebastian held back a groan. “Why’d they send you back to England?”

As much as Sebastian wanted to avoid talking about the circumstances of his discharge, the truth was the best route here. He was a rubbish liar, and Jim would just dig the information up anyway. Jim would judge him for it, too, though not in the way most people would. Sebastian was used to Jim’s variety of judgmental. Better to just get it over with, then. “Failed my psych evaluation,” he said simply. “Was having a little too much fun killing people, and they don’t particularly approve of that, even when they’re paying you to do it.” He felt weird after he said it. Not even his family knew the real reason he was sent home. It was a sore subject with him, and something he preferred to keep others from knowing. 

Jim looked up at him. “I see.” Sebastian couldn’t tell what he was thinking. It made him nervous. “That must have bothered you.”

“It did. Not anymore.”

“It doesn’t look like that’s the case to me.”

Why did Jim have to be so damn perceptive? And why did he insist on pushing every one of Sebastian’s buttons as he found them? “Yeah, well, maybe that’s because of you,” Sebastian snapped. He pulled away from Jim and climbed under the sheets, purposefully facing the edge of the bed.

“Why are you angry now?” Jim asked in an exaggerated, long-suffering tone. 

“Might be the way you started analyzing my scars like they’re some fucking puzzle. Really kills the mood.”

Jim was silent for a moment, then walked around the bed to climb in on his side. Sebastian pointedly kept his back to him. It was petulant and childish of him, he knew, but something about Jim could really get under his skin and bring back old insecurities. Jim pressed himself against Sebastian’s back and snaked an arm around his hips. “I’m interested in your scars because they’re sexy, dummy,” he said in Sebastian’s ear.

There was no way for Sebastian to know if that was true, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted it to be. Sure, Jim was almost certainly manipulating him emotionally in order to get sexual gratification, but what if he really meant what he said? Casting reason aside was the easier option. Sebastian let some of the tension out of his shoulders and shifted so he could look at Jim. Jim was watching him intensely, and smiled lazily when he met Sebastian’s gaze. 

The smile did Sebastian in. He turned into Jim’s embrace and let Jim trace kisses along his jaw. Sebastian slid his hand down to Jim’s hip and pulled him closer. He tilted his head to catch Jim’s lips with his own, and kissed him slowly, taking sheer animal pleasure in the movement of their bodies together. 

This time, Sebastian let Jim take the lead. Jim was surprisingly tender in his attentions, and Sebastian eagerly submitted to his touch. They went slowly, carefully exploring each other’s bodies until carnal desire crowded out every other thought. Afterwards, Sebastian held Jim close, content in the warmth of his skin and his quiet, even breaths as they drifted off to sleep, their limbs intertwined. 

 

 


	14. Day Twenty-Three: Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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Sherlock had solved only three cases in the last three weeks: a simple burglary for a jeweler with his hand in shady business dealings and so understandably wanted to avoid police involvement; a kidnapping that puzzled the Met until Sherlock tracked down the teen in question, who hadn’t been kidnapped at all but had run away from home; and one impressive discovery of a long-established human trafficking ring. None of it had anything to do with Jim, of course. Until his final plan came together, he was on a strict no-contact basis with Sherlock. All his agents were instructed to halt operations and pull back if there was any hint that Sherlock might be on their tail. Everything would fall apart if there was any contact now, however peripheral. 

After all, Rich Brook was getting out. Sherlock wasn’t supposed to have an enemy with a vast criminal network. 

Sebastian’s phone went off, buzzing across the kitchen table. Jim watched out of the corner of his eye as Sebastian stepped away from the stove, where he was preparing the filling for chicken empanadas. Sebastian scooped up his mobile, glanced at the caller ID, then answered it with a brisk, “Morán. Talk.” Then, with the phone tucked securely between his ear and shoulder, he went back to work on dinner. 

It was admirable, Jim mused, how quickly Sebastian had taken to being his PA. Fielding phone calls and getting people in touch with various members of Jim’s organization fit as seamlessly into Sebastian’s day to day life as Sebastian fit into Jim’s. He never questioned anything Jim told him to do, and was unafraid to argue with morons who stubbornly refused to believe he had nearly as much authority as Jim himself. It freed up Jim’s hands to focus on his main priority. 

“No, I’ve told you before, you deal with me unless I determine the situation requires the boss to get involved. He’s got bigger projects to manage than your forgeries.” Sebastian listened carefully while stirring the chicken and vegetables. “Yes. Yes, that’s right. I can arrange that. Right away.” He took the phone from his shoulder, ended the call, and scrolled casually through the new contacts Jim had given him until he found the one he was looking for. Then he punched out a quick text message, dropped the phone back onto the table, and began rolling out dough. 

A smile crept across Jim’s face. Yes, Sebastian had that end of things covered. He turned his attention back to the work at hand. Sherlock had been without a case for a few days. He was probably going mad with boredom, seeking distraction. He’d be driving his little pet up the wall. Jim needed to see this. He’d need to get a camera into Sherlock’s flat. But how to do that without it being apparent that it was Jim’s? Sherlock would, inevitably, find it. Which meant someone else had to place it. Some of Jim’s clients ought to be in the area by now. He’d make some calls, find out who, and then make his move.

Nearly an hour later, Jim became aware of movement in his personal space. He didn’t bother looking up; Sebastian wouldn’t interrupt. The small plate of empanadas Sebastian left on the corner of the desk barely registered with Jim until he was finished with his call. He considered pausing his search for dinner, since he normally would not eat at his desk, but he was turning up some interesting things. It would be a shame to stop now. He could make an exception for Sherlock. 

Between bites of empanada, Jim went on to discover that Ludmila Dyachenko was already in the country and setting up her base of operations on Baker Street. She was ruthlessly cold and efficient, which was an asset when working with her, but her personality was a bit dull. She never laughed at his jokes. She _would_ , however get a camera into Sherlock’s flat. It was part of her _modus operandi_ , and Jim would be able to take full advantage of it. She would also keep anyone else who went after Sherlock in check. It would definitely draw the conflict out. 

It was nothing short of delightful. How long would it take for Sherlock to realize he was being observed? For that matter, how long would it take Ludmila to get her camera set up? Though Sherlock seemed to think his flat invincible—the man rarely bothered to lock his door, despite several intrusions—or else assumed all suspicious activity was his brother’s doing (Moriarty had to thank Mycroft for that, at least), there was nearly always someone there. Sherlock sulked between cases, John had nothing resembling a proper social life, and when the two of them were out on the case, their irritating housekeeper let herself in to tidy up after them. Ludmila would have to work quickly to get in and out again. 

She’d probably have surveillance on anyone else who came to watch the flat before she had it on Sherlock. Criminals would dance around each other for days, maybe even weeks, before anyone acted. 

“What’s got you so happy?” Sebastian asked as he took away the empty plate. 

Jim closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “Ordinary people are adorable,” he said simply. 

“I thought they annoyed you.” 

“Well, yes. When I’m not pulling the strings.”

Sebastian laughed, a bitter harshness to the sound, and turned on the faucet to do the washing up. Jim rolled his eyes. Let Sebastian draw whatever conclusions he wanted. If he hadn’t yet realized he wasn’t ordinary, that was his problem. Jim had made his feelings on the matter perfectly clear over the last few weeks. If Sebastian wanted to persist in his stupidity, Jim would let him. There were bigger things to worry about.

“When you’re done with that, make some tea,” Jim told Sebastian. He stood up from his chair and wandered languidly over to the sofa. “We need to talk.”

* * *

 

“There’s no way we met like that,” Sebastian said firmly. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the velvet cushions. “I’m telling you, if you want this to hold up, you’re going to have to let me help with the backstory.”

Jim sighed. “You can’t possibly make your own coffee all the time.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

Jim mirrored the expression. “Really?”

“Your cutesy cafés don’t make it how I like it.”

“And you’ve never used one to stake out a target?”

“Not since I struck out on my own.”

Interesting. “It should hold up that we met in a coffeeshop.”

“Unless you want Mycroft Holmes stepping in to prove otherwise.”

Jim stilled. “You deal in secrecy. Surely he doesn’t know enough about you to be suspicious over a minor detail like this.”

Sebastian met Jim’s eyes and said levelly, “I’ve done work for him on several occasions. What do you think?”

This came as a surprise. Of course the Ice King would have covered his tracks when dealing with guns for hire, but there was always some record. Jim had looked. Mycroft must have buried some things deeper than others. “He likes to speak to his mercenaries in person,” Jim mused.

“And you and I both know that’s all he needs to learn all sorts of things about a person.”

“We can use this to our advantage,” Jim said. 

Sebastian sat up a little, eyes widening. “How?”

“You know him. You know what he’s capable of. You’d be all the more desperate to get me away from his younger brother.”

Jim could see the thought working its way through Sebastian’s head, running right through every reasonable objection. “Yeah, I’d say you’re right,” Sebastian acquiesced. He frowned for a moment, then asked, “Does Brook frequent pubs?”

“He’s not very social,” Jim answered. 

“What if he just wanted to get completely sloshed?”

Now there was a thought. “Not when he’s out of work. He’s too thrifty for that.”

“How long has he been working for Sherlock?”

“Almost two years now.”

A satisfied smile spread over Sebastian’s face. “The pool. You realized you were in over your head. Couldn’t see a way out.”

“That _would_ drive Brook to drink. Clever, Tiger. Very clever.” A thought occurred to Jim. “You’d leave your buddies to go chat up a morose-looking guy who turned up in your local?”

Sebastian’s grin showed all his teeth, and a wicked gleam lit up his eyes. It was downright predatory, and sent a shiver of desire through Jim. “The lonely ones are more likely to be open for a one-night stand.”

“Brook isn’t a one-night stand kind of fellow.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t take a liking to him anyway. Or steal his number from his phone.”

Jim laughed. “He’d be _so_ embarrassed when you called. Probably not even remember your name.”

“So I’d tell him that he could make it up to me with dinner.”

There was nothing quite like a story coming together. Jim lifted his teacup to his lips and inhaled the slightly bitter aroma before taking a sip. “We need to figure out when you’d learn about Sherlock,” he said. 

“It’s my job to notice things, but Brook’s an actor. A good one, too. I might be suspicious, but I respect the privacy of anyone I get involved with,” Sebastian said thoughtfully. He leaned forward and rested his arms across his knees. 

“Brook wouldn’t want to tell you anything until he had to. Right before the break-in, then.”

“I’d be pissed. Probably let him go through with it and land his ass in jail.”

“You wouldn’t try to talk him into bailing on Sherlock?”

Sebastian shook his head. “I don’t like being lied to. Besides, if Sherlock couldn’t make good on rigging the jury, I’d go right to Mycroft and make a deal. He’s not the kind of man who’d want his little brother causing trouble.”

“Would Brook know that?”

Sebastian shook his head. “Hell no. Let him sweat. But once he was out, I’d try to get him to leave the country with me. Try not to let him know about the nature of my job and just run.”

Jim pondered. “What would you have told him about your job?” He could think of a dozen possibilities off the top of his head, but it would need to be a lie which Sebastian could come up with on his own. 

“Same thing I told the family,” Sebastian answered easily. “Bodyguard. Someone’s gotta do it.”

Given the needs of the story they were weaving, bodyguard was perfect. Jim was impressed. “You’d have the know-how to get us both out of the country unseen, in that line of work.”

“Maybe not unseen, but definitely out. Know a thing or two about safe houses.”

“Yes, this will work.” Jim sipped at his tea thoughtfully. There were still some minor details he and Sebastian would have to work out, but those could be handled later. Everything was slowly sliding into place. He smiled to himself. Sherlock didn’t stand a chance.

 

 

 

 

 


	15. Day Twenty-Six: A Likeness of Normalcy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd. Apologies for the hiatus: life happened.

Sebastian needed to get out of the flat.

He shoved his feet into his boots and laced them tighter than they needed to be with quick, aggravated motions. “Half the night,” he muttered. “Half the bloody night.” He didn’t know how Jim did it. Some of the morons he worked with were insufferable by even Sebastian’s standards. Craig Dalke, a multimillionaire extortionist, had badgered him until three in the morning. Sebastian had missed his poker night. He’d missed dinner. By the time he’d managed to get Craig off the phone, Jim was sound asleep. Sebastian had crawled, exhausted, into bed beside him, and fallen asleep almost instantly. 

When he awoke his watch told him it was nearing ten o’clock. Jim was gone. 

As he snatched his jacket from the hook by the door, he realized what it was he needed. He stepped out of the flat, made sure the door was locked behind him, then dialed a number on his phone. “It’s Morán. Are you free for a social call?”

 

* * *

 

“You surprise me, Sebastian,” Heinrich said merrily as he returned with two steaming mugs of coffee. “I did not expect you to pay another visit.”

Sebastian accepted a mug gratefully. “You don’t make many friends in this business,” he said casually.

Heinrich settled himself in the chair facing Sebastian. “And you think me a friend?”

“I think you could be one.” Sebastian shrugged and blew on the coffee. Heinrich smiled and chuckled quietly. “The gun is fantastic, by the way. Haven’t used it on a job yet, but I took it out to test its range and aim. Absolutely superb.”

Heinrich beamed. “Of course it is. She’s my handiwork.” He took a moment to sip at his coffee, savoring the flavor, before he said, “Rumor has it that you’re moving up in the world.”

“Rumor might have it right.” Sebastian wasn’t surprised that Heinrich knew. Everyone in Jim’s network would know by now that Jim had picked someone to be his right-hand man. Word travels fast in criminal circles when the management changes. 

“Little Jim does not trust easily,” Heinrich pointed out. “He has not let anyone as close as he has let you.” 

“It was mostly my fault,” Sebastian admitted. “Jim was going to work himself to death if I didn’t do something about it.”

For a long moment, Heinrich watched him carefully. Sebastian fought the urge to squirm. “You care about him,” Heinrich said.

Sebastian shrugged. “So do you, if the way you talk about him is anything to judge by.”

“But not like you do,” Heinrich said carefully. “Yes, I’m fond of him. I helped him get his start, and he’s helped me in return. But I know what he is, what he is capable of, and I am perfectly content to keep my distance. I would not shed a tear were he to meet his end.”

Heavy silence fell between them. Sebastian didn’t know what to say. He lowered his eyes, avoiding Heinrich’s gaze, and focused on his coffee to keep from fidgeting. It was still too hot, and the bitter brew scalded his tongue on the way down, but it gave him a moment to get his thoughts in order. He’d never admitted it to anyone but Dan, his closest friend, but it was going to become more and more apparent. Anyone with half a brain was going to put two and two together. “Yeah,” he said. “I care about him.”

“Is he worth it?” Heinrich asked quietly.

“He is,” Sebastian answered without hesitation. “I wouldn’t be doing this if he wasn’t.” 

A broad smile lit up Heinrich’s face. “That’s good,” he said. “A man should always have his priorities straight.”

Sebastian carefully guided the conversation back to more neutral territory. They discussed Heinrich’s work for a while, debated the pros and cons of various types of sniper rifles, and laughed about Jim’s infamous temper tantrums. The hours rolled by, laughter and easy conversation draining away Sebastian’s tension, until he looked at his watch and realized Jim would be leaving the studio soon.

“I should probably get going,” Sebastian said apologetically. 

“Ah. Jim calls?”

A mischievous smile lit up Sebastian’s face. “No, I thought I surprise him.”

 

* * *

 

The recording studio was a large, industrial-style brick building. Sebastian arrived about fifteen minutes before Jim usually got off work, so he loitered around outside the bookshop across the street, pretending to be window shopping. He looked surreptitiously up and down the road, instinctively on the alert for any threats. Before, when he was operating alone, he hadn’t cared so much about his enemies finding him in his downtime. But since he moved in with Jim, he had found himself increasingly worried that someone would catch up to one of them. Rationally, he knew that Jim was perfectly capable of seeing to his own safety. This did not, however, stop Sebastian feeling an urge to act as a bodyguard. He wanted Jim to be safe, and if one bit of extra vigilance was the difference between keeping him alive and finding him dead, then Sebastian was happy to keep alert. 

Five minutes till, Sebastian cross the street and let himself into the lobby of the recording studio. The woman at the desk looked up at him briefly. “Can I help you?” she asked. 

He shook his head and leaned against the wall by the door. “No, I’m just waiting for someone.” With a small shrug, she looked down again at her work. Eventually, the door at the right end of the lobby swung open, and Jim, accompanied by for other people, shuffled out amid cheerful conversation. 

Jim spotted Sebastian immediately. For a moment, an expression of pure surprise crossed his face, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Three of the other people moved easily around him, ignoring Sebastian, and let themselves out into the street. By the time the door swung shut behind the last one, Jim had recovered himself. A completely uncharacteristic warm smile lit up his face and he stepped forward to greet Sebastian. “Honey, what are you doing here?”

Sebastian suppressed a smirk. Catching Jim off his guard was quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes. “I finished up work early today, and thought I’d surprise you, maybe take you out to dinner.”

The woman who had been standing by the door behind Jim, tapping her black heel impatiently against the tile floor, looked sharply in their direction. Sebastian noticed her attention, but pretended to ignore her.

“Well, I’m definitely surprised,” Jim said. A goofy smile spread across his face. “It was really sweet of you to come.”

“Richard,” the woman spoke up. She walked forward to join them, footsteps clicking loudly. “Is this the man who had Trevor in such an uproar last week?”

Now that she was imposing herself upon their conversation, Sebastian took a moment to get a good look at her. The artfully disheveled way that she had pinned her golden curls on top of her head and the simple, understated classiness of her black skirt and loose-fitting white blouse was typical of actresses with hopes of making it big. She had thin, slightly angular features and blue eyes that flashed with laughter when she smiled. “Did I really piss him off that much?” Sebastian chuckled.

“Oh, he spent the better part of the day raving about how filming was going to end up behind schedule, and he could just strangle you if you knew where to find you.” She smiled sweetly at Jim. “Richard, why don’t you introduce us.”

Jim touched his hand to his forehead and wrinkled his nose. “Right, manners, manners.” He gestured at the woman, and said, “Seb, this is Elizabeth Porter, one of the actresses working with me on _The Storyteller_.” She nodded her head, and extended her hand to Sebastian. “Liza, this is my better half, Sebastian Morán.”

Her fingers were cool, her grip firm. “And here I thought that Richard would be the better half.”

“Are you kidding? He can’t even take care of himself without me around.” Sebastian decided he liked Elizabeth. Her personality was charming and put him at ease.

Just then, the door swung open again and another person entered the lobby, head down and staring at a stack of papers on a clipboard. Elizabeth smiled over her shoulder and extended a hand to the newcomer. “And this,” she said, “this is my darling Bengie.”

Bengie looked up from the paperwork and nodded briskly. “Bengie Mathers. I take it you’re the infamous Sebastian?”

“Guilty as charged.” Unlike Elizabeth, Bengie put Sebastian on edge. The problem was immediately apparent. Despite years of training and experience in identifying people, Sebastian could not tell if Bengie was a man or woman. Bengie was smaller than most men, shorter even then Jim, but also slim enough that baggy jeans and a plain blue sweater didn’t reveal any womanly curves. Everything about Bengie was completely androgynous, from the short brown hair tucked under a baseball cap to the pitch of his or her voice. No piercings, no make up, absolutely no outward hint of gender.

“We’re going out to dinner Sunday evening,” Elizabeth said. “Why don’t you two join us? We’ll make it a double date.”

“Oh no,” Jim said, raising his hands apologetically. “We wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth insisted. “We would love to get to know you both better. Wouldn’t we, Bengie?”

“Absolutely,” Bengie agreed.

From the slightly panicked look on Jim’s face, Sebastian knew he was trying desperately to come up with a reason to say no. An idea struck him. Rich Brook might be shy and socially awkward, but Sebastian certainly wasn’t. “We love to come,” Sebastian said. The way Jim’s eyes widened in shock and then narrowed again in annoyance was well worth anything Jim might throw his way as payback.

“Wonderful!” Elizabeth clapped her hands in delight. “I’ll phone tonight with the details.”

 

* * *

 

“Explain to me what exactly you were thinking.” Just as Sebastian had anticipated, Jim’s menacing tirade began the moment the flat door was shut behind them. “You are not supposed to interfere in my work.”

Sebastian calmly unlaced his boots, left them by the door, and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. “I was thinking that I wanted a proper date.”

He could practically feel the rage rolling off of Jim. “I don’t _do_ dates. And you agreed to one with _Brook_ , not me.”

“I know.” 

“Explain it.”

Just for kicks, Sebastian remained silent until the kettle boiled and he made himself a nice cuppa. Jim remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed, glaring. “Would you like tea?” Sebastian offered pleasantly. Jim did not answer. With a sigh, Sebastian sat down at the kitchen table. “Look Jim, I’ve already gotten involved in your alias. If you want it to hold up under scrutiny, you’ll need to play the part of Brook even outside of his work. If we go on this date, then there are witnesses not just for you, but for me. They’ll think I’m a nice guy, be glad that I’m here for you, the usual stuff, and if anything goes south, they’ll be there to be shocked and appalled that I’m some horrible assassin.”

Jim carefully took off his shoes and marched into the kitchen to stand across the table from Sebastian. Sebastian smiled up at him.

“You can’t do these things without consulting me first.”

“Too bad, I already did. Besides, it makes sense.”

Silence fell around them as Jim attempted to stare Sebastian down, and Sebastian sipped his tea, amused. For a long while, neither of them moved. Finally, Jim deflated and lowered himself into the chair. Sebastian hid his triumphant smile in his tea. Jim crossed his arms on the table in front of him and slouched until his chin rested on them. “You are endlessly infuriating.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “So are you, you old codger.”

 


	16. Day Twenty-Eight: A Proper Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd, unedited.
> 
> This was the chapter from hell. It's awful, but I needed to get it over with so I could move on to more fun things.

Jim could not believe he was going through with this. There had been plenty of time to come up with an excuse which Elizabeth would buy. There was absolutely no reason for him to spend one of his valuable Sunday evenings pretending to be a blathering fool and entertaining Brook’s tedious colleagues. The constant teasing about the upcoming date which he endured from Sebastian should have just been even more incentive to call it off. Yet here he was, pulling on his nicest cardigan while Sebastian was in the bathroom trying to tame his unruly hair. It was the logic of it that persuaded Jim to go through with this idiotic plan. Sebastian had been right. This would only strengthen his alias. 

If only it were just dinner, though. Bengie had convinced Elizabeth they should see a movie as well, and Elizabeth would not take no for an answer when she had called. 

The bathroom door opened. “Ready to go?” Sebastian asked. Jim glanced sideways at him and found himself unwilling to look away. Sebastian had slicked his hair back off his face, and the effect was startling. His dark eyes stood out, and the lines of his face had gone from slightly awkward to rugged with the appearance of his forehead. He was wearing new clothing, bought just for the occasion: dark blue jeans that were just a shy too tight, and an off-white button-up shirt with a collar which was too loose to properly show off his physique. Jim wanted to tear it off of him and mark Sebastian’s flesh with his teeth. 

“Like what you see?” Sebastian asked. A teasing smile played about his lips. 

Jim rolled his eyes and pushed past him into the bathroom. “Took you long enough,” he grumbled. “I need to brush my teeth.”

 

* * *

 

The cab ride to the Chinese buffet where they were having dinner would be the most enjoyable part of the evening, so Jim leaned his head back against the seat, closed his eyes, and tried to savor it. Sebastian shifted on the seat next to him, and gently took his hand, lacing their fingers together. Jim forced himself to relax. He wasn’t in control tonight, and we was just going to have to deal with it. This was for the good of the plan. It would help him bring Sherlock to his end. 

“Relax,” Sebastian said quietly. He began running his thumb in small circles across the back of Jim’s hand. Now that was interesting. Soothing gestures were one thing he’d never expected out of Sebastian’s prickly personality. “You’ve never been on a double date before, have you?”

But they were playing parts tonight. It could easily be part of the act. “No, never,” Jim answered. “And to be honest, Liza’s a bit intimidating.” 

“I’ll distract her if she gets too overbearing,” Sebastian said. “But on one condition.”

Jim opened one eye to look at Sebastian curiously. “Oh?”

“You tell me before we get there if Bengie is a man or a woman, because I swear, I can’t tell, and I’ll be damned if I make a fool of myself in front of your friends.” 

Jim snorted. “Liza will have my hide if I ruin their game.”

“Game?” 

“Watching people struggle to guess the right pronoun,” Jim said, grinning. “It was the highlight of the first week of work.” Of course Jim had known right away that Bengie was an androgyne. The fact that ey willingly allowed both masculine and feminine pronouns gave it away. 

Sebastian sighed heavily. “So you won’t tell me, then?”

“Sorry, Tiger. Not a chance in hell.”

* * *

 

 

Elizabeth and Bengie were standing on the pavement outside the restaurant when the cab pulled up to the curb. “Showtime,” Sebastian said. He gave Jim’s hand a gentle squeeze, then fished out his wallet to pay the cabbie. Jim sighed, resigned himself to an evening of torment (all for the good of the plan, all for the good of the plan), opened the door, and stepped out into the late afternoon air. 

“I hope we didn’t keep you waiting,” he said apologetically.

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth chided. “We just arrived ourselves.” She was, as per the usual, overdressed for the occasion, in a slinky black dress slit up to the knee. Her heels were extra glossy, a compliment to her sparkling silver chandelier earrings. 

Bengie looked more feminine than usual, dressed in fitted jeans and an emerald green shirt with a grey waistcoat, but ey wore no makeup or jewelry. Ey was a contrast to Elizabeth’s glamour, but somehow they looked like they belonged together. It was their body language, Jim decided, the way they were always turned slightly toward one another, the sidelong glances. They were projecting “couple” as far as the eye could see.

“This is exciting, isn’t it?” Elizabeth asked, smiling. She moved closer to Jim, until he could smell her perfume—petunias and passionfruit, and interesting combination—and went on. “We so rarely get a chance to talk outside of work. How have you been?”

“Well,” Jim answered. The cab pulled away and he watched Sebastian cross over to talk to Bengie. “And you?”

“I’ve been fabulous, as always.” She cast a critical eye over Jim’s outfit. “Darling, how many times must I tell you? You really need to freshen up your wardrobe if you expect to make it in this business.” Jim only half-paid attention to her. He was too busy watching Sebastian and Bengie from the corner of his eye. Sebastian shuffled his feet awkwardly and said something which delighted Bengie. “Appearances are everything, you know.”

Jim laughed it off and tried to make out what Bengie was saying. The traffic was too loud. Elizabeth caught the direction of his gaze. “Oh, look at your beau. He is gorgeous, you lucky thing.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

Bengie waved them over. “Come on, you two, we can chat inside!” As they went inside, ey remarked to Elizabeth, “By the way, your fun’s been spoiled. Sebastian asked me about my gender.”

 Sushi Garden was not on the list of restaurants Jim frequented, and with good reason. The stereotypical “asian” music which played quietly through the whole space was obviously composed by someone who had never set foot in any Asian country. The decorator had tried too hard, covering too-bright walls with garish paintings and wooden hangings. Statues of dragons and Buddhas lined every windowsill, and small bamboo plants were placed on each light-colored wooden table. The matching chairs were too tall and uncomfortable to sit on.

Worse yet were the waiters, who spoke with poorly-faked accents with such enthusiasm that it was difficult to understand them. Mindful of his alias, Jim fumbled through the menu until Sebastian ordered for him. “Octopus,” Sebastian grinned. “I had it once, back in Spain. It was probably better there, but I think you’ll like it.”

“Are you from Spain, or were you just visiting?” Elizabeth asked. 

“From,” Sebastian answered. 

Bengie whistled in awe. “You don’t even have an accent. I thought for sure you grew up here.”

Sebastian laughed. “Bilingual family and an Oxford education will do that, I guess. How about you, Elizabeth? Is that a trace of Welsh I hear?”

“Liza, please, and yes, it is. You’ve a good ear.”

He shrugged off the compliment. “I’ve just had a lot of practice, that’s all. It comes with the job.”

Elizabeth leaned her elbows on the tabletop and rested her chin lightly on her hands. “What is it, exactly, that you do?”

Jim put on a slightly panicked expression and reached over to touch Sebastian’s arm. “Are you sure you should be talking about work?” he asked quietly.

Bengie and Elizabeth exchanged a glance. 

“It’s fine,” Sebastian reassured him. He smiled at Elizabeth. “I’m a bodyguard for hire,” he told her. “Mostly just standing around looking threatening, but every now and then I have to handle a situation. I’m not allowed to talk specifics, because of client confidentiality.”

Just then their insufferable waiter arrived with their orders. The conversation drifted towards food at that point, with Sebastian and Elizabeth exchanging recipes and Bengie and Jim occasionally interjecting their comments on various dishes. Jim was relieved when they’d all finished and it was time to head to the cinema. 

Unfortunately, group consensus was that the evening was nice enough to walk. Jim was forced to endure eight blocks of handholding in public while everyone made small talk around him. Bengie insisted they see some hack and slash horror film that bored Jim half to death. He knew dozens of more creative ways to brutally murder someone. He wanted to plan out some gruesome deaths for his present company (Elizabeth’s guts would look fantastic spread across a museum’s front lawn, and Jim knew an ex-neurosurgeon with a penchant for dissecting the brains of fully conscious patients who would love to get her hands on Bengie.), but he had to pay attention so he knew the appropriate places to feign fear and cling to Sebastian. Sebastian seemed to be enjoying himself. Jim was pissed.

After the film, they loitered outside the cinema to make their goodbyes. “This was wonderful fun,” Elizabeth said. 

Jim leaned against Sebastian’s side, the weight of Sebastian’s arm around his waist just a little too possessive. He forced a smile. “It was, yeah.”

“It was great getting to know you guys,” Sebastian added. “Rich doesn’t usually let me meet his friends.”

Jim poked him with his elbow. “Oh, shut it.”

“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” Bengie suggested. “I like you two, and I’m sure we could all use a break from work occasionally.”

“Definitely,” they all agreed. 

 

* * *

 

Once they were safely in a cab on the way home, Jim crossed his arms and let the facade drop. “If you ever make me sit through something like that again, I will feed you to the pigeons.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Sebastian protested. “I had fun.”

“It was hell,” Jim said. He turned his eyes out the window and refused to acknowledge Sebastian for the rest of the ride. Upon returning home, he went straight into the bedroom and locked the door behind him. 

Sebastian tried the knob, swore, then banged on the door. “Jim, are you really going to throw a tantrum over this?”

Jim ignored him and turned on the shower. 

 


	17. Day Twenty Nine: Heist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken serious liberties with reality in this chapter for the sake of hilarity and living up to a challenge.
> 
> Unedited and unbeta'd, just trying to get this thing finished. <3

Twenty four hours had passed. Sebastian had been forced to sleep on the sofa. His apology breakfast was summarily ignored. Jim left the flat for Brook’s work without a word, leaving none of the usual instructions for dealing with various criminal clients. By the time he’d returned, Sebastian had cleaned the entire flat top to bottom, ordered six people to assassinate someone who didn’t exist, scoured the news for any sign that someone Jim consulted with was getting noticed, and prepared a truly excellent gazpacho. 

If Jim was aware of any of it, he said nothing. He came in, carefully removed his shoes, and went into the bedroom to change. He emerged a few minutes later wrapped tightly in his dressing gown and went straight to his desk and powered on his computer. 

Sebastian watched him over the back of the sofa. Gone was the fiery snark and sarcastic sass that he enjoyed provoking out of Jim. They had been replaced by a weary silence and a barely-noticeable frown. Guilt crept over Sebastian. Jim was in a genuinely bad mood, and he was certain it was his fault. 

“Jim?”

“What?” came the gruff reply. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were going to hate last night so much.”

“That’s because you’re a simple-minded ape,” Jim growled. 

With a sigh, Sebastian turned back to the television, where the evening news was playing. A couple of murders, a lot of robberies, one vicious auto accident. He was about to switch it off and power up his xbox when a special report began about some sort of security problem at New Scotland Yard.

A plump woman with frizzy hair, identified as Janice Palesch, stood at the front of the press conference room and looked out over the gaggle of journalists and television reporters before her. “We know the recent theft of evidence vital to the Taiko West murder trial has been a concern to a great many people. Rest assured that today marks the final installation of a new security system. New protocol for accessing the evidence locker is effective immediately. No one can get in or out without us knowing about it.”

Now that was interesting. “Hey Jim, take a look at this.”

Jim swiveled in his chair and listened as Janice fielded questions from reporters, firmly refusing to reveal any details about the new system. After a moment, he got out of his chair and came to stand behind the sofa. 

“What do you think?” Sebastian asked. “Could you get through it?”

“Child’s play,” he remarked flippantly.

“Then let’s go.” Sebastian flipped off the television and stood up. Jim raised an eyebrow in question at him. “We’re going to break into the evidence locker and, I don’t know, reverse alphabetize all the evidence or something?”

“Why would we do that?” Jim asked. His tone clearly implied, “I’m still mad at you, idiot.” 

Sebastian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s called a prank, genius. They’re fun. Seriously, just imagine the looks on their faces when, the day after they announce their new impenetrable security, they get a serious break-in. Nothing taken, just moved around so much they can’t brush it off as someone making a mistake. They’ll be humiliated.”

A devious smile spread across Jim’s features. “It _has_ been a while since I’ve done something myself,” he admitted. “Let’s see what sort of security they’ve got.” He spun around and swept across the space to his desk and sat down at his computer. 

“You can hack into their system?” Sebastian asked, coming to stand behind him.

“Not without leaving a trace. I’d need more time for that.” His fingers flew over the keyboard and within minutes he’d gotten access to the chief superintendent’s email account. 

“You’d think he’d be harder to hack,” Sebastian remarked. 

“No, that’s only the tech specialists. Everyone else is basically an open door.” Jim skimmed through sent and received messages until he found what he was looking for. “I’m impressed,” he said. “This is much better than I expected for the Yard.”

Sebastian, who had been reading over Jim’s shoulder, whistled in admiration. “I could take out the cameras, the clerk and the motion detectors, but the only way I can see getting through that door is to take a hostage.”

“Not an option,” Jim replied. “We want to get in and out without as little trace as possible.” He leaned back in his chair, thinking. “The door’s the easy part, anyway.”

“How the hell is it easy? We’d need an ID card with the matching hand and retina,” Sebastian demanded to know.

Jim grinned. “We set the building on fire.”

Sebastian stared at him like he was insane. “The building which we’re going to be in?”

“The very same.”

“And how exactly is that going to help us?”

Jim got up from the chair and gestured toward the computer screen where the security information was displayed. “Figure it out, Tiger.”

Challenge accepted, thought Sebastian. He sat down and went over everything again in more detail, trying to see what Jim found so obvious. He could hear Jim prowling around the flat, but resisted the urge to turn around and try to get a good view of his ass. Instead he channeled all of his focus into the task at hand. 

There were several security elements they’d have to get around. Under orders from the elder Holmes, advanced facial recognition software was constantly monitoring the CCTV footage in and around New Scotland Yard, on the lookout for known terrorists, assassins, and other high-profile criminals. Even if Jim had managed to get his face expunged from the system, Sebastian knew he’d be in there. 

Even after they’d solved the issue of the cameras, there was general security protocol for getting into the building. Civilians couldn’t just walk in and wander around as they pleased. The place was crawling with officers trained to spot suspicious behavior, no matter the time of day or night. 

The evidence locker itself was covered by CCTV, PIR motion detectors, and a clerk whose sole job it was to store and retrieve evidence, and to document every exchange in a detailed log. All of this was, of course, beyond the damn door. The door took three more basic safeguards—retinal scan, hand scan, and key card—and meshed them together into something difficult as hell to get through. Each officer was issued a personal key card for the door which was useless for anyone else, because it contained that officer’s retinal scan and handprint, which the door would then confirm. This had to be done not only to get inside the locker, but also to get back out. It was a simple enough matter to prop the thing open on the way in, but someone was bound to notice.

To top it all off, if any of the surveillance systems were knocked out or tampered with, or if the power went out, the entire building would go into lockdown. Doors and windows would automatically close and lock, and only the all-clear from someone with high enough authorization would open it up again. That didn’t seem right. If for some reason the building needed to be evacuated, everyone inside could be trapped like rats. Sebastian poked around in the specs until he found what he was looking for, and the thing Jim had seen the first time through: a failsafe was built into the system to ensure that, in case of emergencies such as fire, the lockdown would not be triggered.

“Can’t we just trigger a false alarm?” Sebastian asked. 

“Too quickly resolved,” Jim replied from the bedroom. “A real fire would necessitate a prolonged evacuation, efforts to quench the flame, and an evaluation of the building’s safety and at least a cursory investigation into the fire’s cause before anyone was allowed to return en masse.”

It made sense. It was risky as hell, but Sebastian was no stranger to risk. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation and slid around in the chair to look towards the bedroom. “I can knock the motion detectors offline once the building’s cleared,” he offered. 

“Then they’ll know we’re there before we’re done. The data’s sent off premises and stored. Any gap will trigger an alarm.”

“So we loop it?”

“Can you do it?” 

Sebastian considered. “I’m not that good. I can cover my tracks when I’m breaking and entering, but I can’t become a ghost.”

“Then I’ll handle it while you go for the door. It’s important someone’s there to catch it when the clerk leaves.” Jim emerged from the bedroom clad in a sparkling red dress. It was one of the sleeveless numbers that was high in the front, wrapped around the neck, and left the back mostly bare. He tossed a small metal and plastic contraption to Sebastian, who nearly missed catching it. 

“Jim,” Sebastian said slowly. “Mind telling me why the fuck you’re wearing a dress?”

“Disguise,” Jim replied easily. “I’ve got one in here for you, too.”

“A dress?”

“Don’t be stupid, you’d look ridiculous in one.”

“Alright.” Sebastian took a moment more to wrap his head around his boyfriend in a dress—boyfriend? Was that even a remotely accurate term? God dammit, he didn’t have time for this sort of crisis right now—then examined the thing Jim had thrown to him. “Is this a _bomb_?” he asked. He turned it over carefully and studied the construction. “An _incendiary_? You just had this lying around?”

“I like to keep one in the flat at all times, just in case.”

Sebastian decided he didn’t want to know why, but was definitely going to find where Jim kept the thing. “So what sort of disguise do you have for me?”

 

* * *

 

This was definitely not what Sebastian had in mind when he suggested he and Jim pull a prank on the police, but Jim had _insisted_ they have dinner first, and it _had_ to be at one of the finest French restaurants in the city. Sebastian was uncomfortable with Jim’s ability to convincingly cross-dress and the fake mustache plastered to his own face was itchy and annoying. This had nothing to do with the plan. This was revenge, plain and simple. Long before Jim took care of the check, Sebastian was ready to leave. 

“I still don’t see how your disguise is going to help at all,” Sebastian grumbled after dinner. His own disguise consisted of a stolen police uniform and identification. It probably wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny, but it should be enough to keep him from getting noticed in the chaos they intended to create.

“You’ll see,” Jim singsonged. He flipped the hair of his chin-length blonde wig flirtatiously and clung to Sebastian’s arm as they walked. How the hell he could keep up in five-inch heels, Sebastian didn’t know. The incendiary bomb was nestled into the oversized handbag slung over his shoulder. “You remember the layout?”

“Yeah.” 

“Good.”

The cabbie dropped them off a few blocks from New Scotland Yard. During the entire ride, Jim had played up the part of clingy girlfriend. Sebastian hadn’t been this uncomfortable since his teenage years, when he’d been in the process of figuring out he was gay. He tried not to let it show. 

They ducked into a dark alley, away from the eyes of passerby and the CCTV cameras which made crime annoyingly difficult to pull off in public. Jim took the incendiary from inside the large handbag that he was carrying and handed it off to Sebastian. Sebastian tucked it into the corner of his arm and folded his jacket over it, obscuring it from view. Then they slipped back onto the street and walked, side by side, the rest of the way to the station. Sebastian felt the first flutterings of nerves as the front entrance came into view. Minor bits of acting, like pretending to be dating Jim’s alias, were easy enough. Fudging the truth was simple if you knew how to do it. But it had been a very long time since Sebastian had put on a persona in order to infiltrate a location for a job. Though this wasn’t _technically_ work, it was close enough to make him remember that the last time he’d tried it hadn’t gone so well. It had resulted in an unfortunate reminder that concussions are _not_ fun to recover from.

He couldn’t let Jim down, though. So he took a deep breath, put on his best cocky saunter, and led Jim into  the building, praying the mustache and Jim’s copious amounts of makeup and the damn wig would be enough to fool the facial recognition. No alarms sounded. So far so good. He flashed his stolen badge at the officer on security duty, who waved them past. The line for the metal detectors was, thankfully, very short.

“This will only take a few minutes, right?” Jim asked him in an annoying but convincingly feminine voice.

“Absolutely, ma’am,” he replied. “Just need to ask you a few questions.” 

“I’m supposed to be meeting some friends soon at our local, you see,” Jim went on. “They won’t be happy if I miss.”

“I promise we won’t be long.”

The woman attending the metal detectors glanced at them lazily. “Bag on the counter, please empty your pockets, et cetera.” Jim rolled his eyes and dropped his purse with a thud. The woman rolled it through the x-ray machine while Jim stepped through the detector. Immediately it went off, beeping loudly. Sebastian’s heart raced. It was too soon for something to go wrong. 

“Oh, wait, I forgot this,” Jim said. He reached down into the top of his dress and extracted his mobile phone. The woman waved him back through. He set his phone on the counter, let her push it after his purse, then walked through the detector one more time. Blissful silence. Sebastian felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders. 

“Mind if I carry this?” he asked the woman, lifting his arm with the jacket. “I don’t want it to get wrinkled.”

“Go on.”

He stepped through after Jim, not daring to breathe. Jim had assured him up and down that there was nothing metallic in the bomb, and that it would be a simple matter to get it into the building. At the moment of truth, however, those assurances did nothing to assuage his fears.

Nothing happened. 

They were in.

Sebastian led Jim to the lifts. A haggard officer, in his early 40s with graying hair around his temples, was exiting one of the lifts. They waited a moment for him to pass, then went inside, Sebastian immediately hit the button for the top floor, quickly following by the “Close Door” button. As soon as the doors slid shut, Jim attached himself to Sebastian’s arm and made doe eyes at him. “This is terribly exciting,” he said.

“Glad to hear it.” Sebastian smiled, glad for Jim’s much improved mood. With any luck, it would rub off on him, and his nerves would start to die down.

Twice on their way up, the lift stopped to pick up someone else. Both times, Jim and Sebastian separated awkwardly and played up the parts of officer sneaking tipsy girlfriend into work in order to show off and possibly get laid. They got eyerolls, but were otherwise ignored, which was exactly what they wanted. 

Their destination was a little-used room in the northeast corner of the building. Sebastian took Jim by the hand and led him inside. There were stacks of boxes along one wall, several outdated computers, and, to Sebastian’s utter relief, one of the lights was flickering. Since cameras only covered the halls and other specific rooms, they were free to drop the charade for a while.

“Get that set up, will you?” Jim said. He took a compact mirror from his purse and used it to watch as he fussed with his wig, artfully arranging the blonde strands until anyone looking at him would know he’d just been having a good snog.

Sebastian pulled a desk underneath the flickering light, grabbed Jim’s purse, and then climbed up to stand on the desk’s surface. He lifted the ceiling tile next to the light and set the bomb inside, securing it with a piece of string from inside the purse. He settled the panel back into place and turned his attention to the fire sprinklers dispersed throughout the room. “Should I disable the sprinklers in here?” he asked. “It’ll let the fire get a good hold before anyone can show up to put it out.”

“Good thinking, Tiger,” Jim replied. “There’s a screwdriver in my bag.”

It took nearly ten minutes, but when he was done, Sebastian was confident none of the sprinklers would function properly. There might be a little water spray, but nothing like the output necessary to quell a flame. He hopped down off the desk. Jim immediately stepped in close to him, reached a hand up around his neck, buried slender fingers in his hair and pulled him down for a heated kiss. Before Sebastian could respond, Jim had moved on, trailing kisses down Sebastian’s jawline to his neck, pausing for a moment to nibble at his earlobe. 

Caught by surprise, Sebastian instinctively wrapped his arms around Jim’s waist. The slightly scratchy texture of the dress brought him back to his senses. He was not going to make out with Jim while Jim was all done up in makeup and pretending to be a woman. Disgusted, he pushed Jim away. “What the hell?”

Jim pulled at Sebastian’s shirt, ruining its crisp neatness. “We’ve been in here for fifteen minutes,” he explained. “We need to look like we’ve been up to something innocent.”

“I’d hardly call _that_ innocent,” Sebastian grumbled.

“It is when you’re looking for an arsonist,” Jim countered. He fiddled with something on his phone for a moment, then stuck it back inside his dress. “Ten minutes. Leave the jacket.” He snatched up his purse, slung it expertly over his shoulder, then took Sebastian’s hand and pulled him from the room. “Show me where you work,” he said, once again pitching his voice higher than usual. 

Sebastian put on a fake smile, hoped it was convincing, and once more took the lead. They went down to the basement level where the evidence locker was located. As they strode through the corridor, past night-shift personnel who barely gave them a glance, Sebastian watched the cameras out of the corner of his eye. They couldn’t see everywhere. There would have to be a blind corner somewh— There! He and Jim ducked round the vending machine to find a couple already occupying the space they’d been aiming for, tongue-deep in each other’s mouths. The couple pulled away from each other, startled, and stared at them.. Sebastian recognized the woman: Sergeant Sally Donovan. She’d been part of several press conferences he’d seen lately. The stupid-looking bloke he’d never seen. 

Another memory came to him. Donovan had been part of the team that had arrested Jim when he’d broken into London Tower. She might recognize Jim through his disguise. Fear gripped him and his mind blanked. He didn’t know what to do. 

“Oh dear, sorry, didn’t know this spot was taken,” Jim said flirtatiously. “Come on, love, let’s leave them be and find another.” He dragged Sebastian away. “Don’t lose your cool,” he whispered harshly. “Shouldn’t you be good at this?”

“Shut up,” Sebastian grumbled. 

They found another corner and Sebastian pressed Jim into it, using his height to effectively shield Jim from view. Jim once more took out his phone. This time he was hacking into the security system, getting ready to knock the cameras out as soon as the fire alarm sounded. They didn’t have long to wait before the evacuation siren sounded. Jim hit the button. “Go,” he whispered.

Sebastian sprinted down the corridor toward the locker. He passed three people headed in the other direction, toward the stairs, one of whom shouted after him, “There’s a fire, mate! You’re going the wrong way!”

“I forgot something important!” he called back. “I won’t be a minute!”

He rounded the last corner in time to see the door to the evidence locker swinging shut behind a harried-looking young man who was stumbling over himself in his hurry to get outside. He darted forward and managed to get his fingers around the handle and keep it from closing all the way. As soon as Sebastian was certain no one was around to see, he ducked inside, pulled off his shoes, and used one of them to prop open the door. 

Now it was time to wait. Jim needed to get the data stream from the motion detectors on loop before Sebastian could enter the locker proper. He rolled his eyes at the chain-link gate separating him from the evidence he was about to rearrange, then dropped into the rolling office chair behind the clerk’s desk, propped his feet up, and got comfy.

Two minutes later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from Jim: _Clear._

He got up, stretched, lifted the latch on the gate, and let himself in. Scotland Yard wouldn’t know what hit them.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, the fire had been extinguished and an investigation into the fire was underway. Flashing lights from emergency vehicles and photographer’s cameras lit up Broadway. No one noticed the two figures climb over the fence behind the building and out onto the street, giggling like schoolchildren as they disappeared into the night. 

The following day, the entire police force was baffled when it was discovered that someone had broken into the evidence locker. A full-scale investigation was launched, only to find that nothing at all had been taken. 

 


	18. Day Thirty Four: Focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited, unbeta'd.

There was never any shortage of people willing to jump to do Jim’s bidding. Said people often didn’t know they were on his list of potential lackeys until he secured their services. Nearly anyone could be bought, if you knew the price, and people were so dreadfully easy to read, if one paid attention.

For instance, Elliot Swern: landscaper for the wealthy and influential by day, burglar by night. He indulged in his criminal pastime for the thrill of it, as opposed to any sense of greed or anger. His passion for his craft had led him to seek Jim’s help some years past in establishing an underground school of sorts, where he would be able to share the tools and tricks of his trade and be among others who sought the adrenaline rush that came with a successful robbery. It was an interesting idea, and Jim had liked the thought of a dozen or more new burglars plaguing Britain, but Swern had been unable to pay the consulting fee and Jim wasn’t interested enough to negotiate. 

Swern wanted that school. It was his dream. Plus he was roughly the same height as Sherlock, and with a proper disguise in dim lighting, would be an acceptable substitute. With any luck, he’d still be willing to strike a deal.

Jim sat on the roof, enjoying the warmth in the breeze and the weak sunshine filtering through a thin layer of cloud. He dialed Karen.

She picked up on the first ring. “Sir?”

“Call Elliot Swern. I’d like to make him an offer.” It had been a while since Jim had done this, used Karen as a mouthpiece to speak with a potential client. Only the clients he’d worked with for years and who were under constant watch in case they got notions of betrayal into their heads ever heard Jim’s actual voice. 

He listened with rapt attention as Karen dialed. The phone rang once, twice, and then: “Who’s this?” Jim wasn’t surprised by the suspicion. Swern was a cautious man, and wouldn’t give out his personal number to just anyone. A call from a strange number would be, at the very least, alarming.

“No need to be so gruff,” Jim said, pausing to let Karen repeat his words. “Tell me, do you still want that school?”

There was a brief moment of silence, then Swern said, “Moriarty?”

“The one and only.”

“I still can’t meet your price,” Swern said tersely.

“Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous and am willing to strike you a bargain. You do something for me, and you get your school.”

“What do you need done?” He was interested, but still on edge. Smart man, Jim thought. Good choice for the job.

“A kidnapping. Rufus Brule’s little tykes. I’ve got it all planned out, just need someone to snatch them.”

“You want me to kidnap an ambassador’s children?” Swern asked incredulously. “I’ll be caught for sure.”

“I assure you that you won’t,” Jim explained. “We’ll be setting up someone else to take the blame. It wouldn’t suit my purposes to let the authorities find you.”

“So you’re telling me that you need someone to do your dirty work for you, and you’re willing to give me what I want in exchange if I accept the job?”

“Exactly.”

“Why me?”

Jim rolled his eyes. No one ever wanted to take his generous offers and run with them. They always had to know why they were so special. “Because your skills are suited to the task and I don’t anticipate you’ll get any stupid ideas and deviate from the plan. Happy now?”

The roof access door squeaked open and Jim glanced over his shoulder to see Sebastian watching him curiously. “There you are,” Sebastian said. “I’ve made breakfast, do you want any?”

Jim waved him away impatiently. Couldn’t Sebastian see he was working? He didn’t have the time or patience for distractions. 

Sebastian stood watching him for a few moments more, expression unreadable. Jim turned his back on him and focused his attention on explaining the plan to Swern and answering his questions. Eventually, Sebastian went back inside, leaving Jim in peace. 

It took several hours to work through everything. 

“These kids will never see you in proper lighting, the disguise doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Swern was an intelligent man and unafraid to voice his thoughts. 

“You want me to leave _clues_? What are you doing, playing a game with someone?”

He also possessed the highly valuable ability to put a lid on his moral principles in the name of getting what he wanted. “The hungrier they get, the faster they’ll die. You won’t even need to be there.”

“What are the chances they’ll be found?”

“They’ll certainly be found. Whether they’ll still be alive depends entirely upon how quickly their rescue arrives.”

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“I’ll have everything you need delivered to you by courier.”

“Now, what about my school?”

“We’ll discuss that after you’ve successfully completed your task. Bye.” He shook his head as Karen hung up on Swern. It was a shame, really. Swern’s school was _such_ an interesting idea, and if anyone could pull it off, it’d be him. But no one could be left alive who could undermine this plan. “Karen, assign an assassin to him. The moment he’s clear of the crime, I want him dead and his body hidden where it won’t be found.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good girl.” He ended the call and stood up, stretching luxuriously. It had been a good day’s work. The final pieces of his plan were coming together. It was time for a reward.

He went back inside to his flat. As soon as he opened the door, the absolutely heavenly scent of lemon pepper and fish. His stomach gurgles, reminding him that it had been some time since morning, and he’d skipped breakfast.

“Left you some lunch in the oven,” Sebastian said without turning around. He was taking up most of the sofa, playing his boorish video games again. 

After he’d eaten and done the washing up, Jim went to the sofa and sat down beside Sebastian, leaning against him affectionately. Sebastian shifted, lifting his arm over Jim to settle it around his shoulders so they could snuggle while he played his game. It was something that Jim usually enjoyed, but today he wanted Sebastian’s full attention.

“The tilapia was delicious,” he said. 

Sebastian grinned. “Glad you liked it.” He kept his eyes glued to the television screen.

Jim frowned. This wouldn’t do at all. “I’m making good progress on the plan,” he tried again.

“The Sherlock one?”

“The same. Everything will start coming together soon.”

“That’s good.” Once again, Sebastian became absorbed by his game.

Jim sighed. More drastic measures were obviously needed. He reached across Sebastian to where the remote control had been dropped onto the sofa, then clicked the television off. 

“What the hell, Jim?” Sebastian snapped. He snatched the remote from Jim.

Before he could turn the television back on, Jim put a hand on either side of his face and kissed him hard. “Pay attention to _me_ ,” he said against Sebastian’s lips. 

Sebastian blinked and pulled away. “Right, uh, just let me turn this off.”

Jim smirked. He always got what he wanted. 

Sebastian powered down his console and quickly returned to sit with Jim. Jim wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s neck, pressed himself against Sebastian’s body, and kissed him again, slowly and sensuously. Sebastian responded eagerly. Wandering hands found Jim’s ass, then worked their way into his trousers. 

He’d only wanted a good snuggle, but Jim wasn’t one to turn down a chance for a celebratory shag. He pulled Sebastian off the sofa (they were _never_ having sex on it, the velvet would be a pain to clean) and to their bedroom. A good day’s work deserved a good reward.


	19. Day Thirty Eight: Family Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited and unbeta'd.

It was Luisa’s birthday. Sebastian had sent her a card with some money, a sum which was nothing to him but would make her shriek with glee, but it felt too impersonal. 

He smelled burning and swore under his breath. The price of distraction was crunchy eggs for breakfast. Thank god Jim wasn’t around to laugh at him or make snide remarks. 

Impersonal had been fine for years, he mused as he sat down to eat. Why did it have to be any different now? The answer was obvious, of course: he hadn’t known how much he missed her until she tracked down his number and made him talk to her. He had been heartbroken and emotionally battered when he’d left home last, which had made the distance easy. But now, finding himself honestly happy for the first time in many years, he wanted to share that happiness with her. 

And it was her birthday. He had to call her. 

He had to get a personal phone.

* * *

 

 

He’d forgotten how much he hated phone shopping. Blathering salespeople, always trying to sell him the latest gadget with an expensive data plan when all he wanted was something simple that could make and receive international calls. 

By the time he’d gotten out of the shop, it was time for lunch, so he stopped at a café for a sandwich and coffee before heading home. To his surprise, he found Jim lounging on the sofa with ornate flute solos that sounded like they were pulled from some stuffy classical orchestral piece blaring through his sound system. He didn’t move when Sebastian came in. In fact, he looked as if he might be asleep.

Sebastian turned down the music. “Jim?” No response. Definitely napping. Fuzzy feelings of fondness stirred in Sebastian’s chest as he watched Jim sleep. It wasn’t a sight he often got to see, and it made him unspeakably happy that Jim didn’t wake up when he came in. That was trust. 

His phone—the work one—vibrated in his pocket, reminding him that he’d been ignoring his duties as Jim’s second-in-command all day. He sat down on the unoccupied side of the sectional and started reading and replying to text messages. An hour later, he’d caught up on everything urgent, forwarded complicated requests to Jim’s email, and was thinking of his sister again. Jim was still asleep. Well, couldn’t hurt to call her now, while it was quiet. 

She answered the phone warily. “Hola.”

“Feliz cumpleaños, pajarito,” he said. 

He heard a sharp intake of breath, then a moment of silence. Finally, she asked, “Bastian? Did you get a new number?”

“Just for you,” he told her. “You can call me here, it’s safe.”

“Oh, mi coraje,” she breathed. “It is the best gift.”

He smiled at the use of her old pet name for him. “What can I say? I miss you.”

She sniffed and he imagined she was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I miss you, too. It’s not been the same since you left.”

“What? No one to talk about boys with?”

“Ass.” Her peal of laughter was a welcome sound. “I’ve got plenty of friends to talk about boys with, and you know it.”

“So do you have a boy of your own?” he asked.

She snorted. “Not at the moment. Not much to choose from in town. It appears I might have to run away to the city in order to find a decent piece of man.”

“You never know, one might find his way to you. I mean, Tolomé found a lady that way.”

“Hah, true. We’ll see. I’ve got plenty of time. But enough about my lack of a boyfriend. Tell me about yours!”

Sebastian glanced over at Jim, who was stirring slightly in his sleep. “Jim? He’s equal parts frustrating and adorable.”

“So you made your move? It went well?” She sounded so excited that he had to laugh again.

“Sort of. It’s been rocky, but we’ve settled into something good, I think.” He sighed. “Luisa, I’m hopelessly smitten.”

She squealed in delight. “It’s about damn time! Good God, I thought you were hellbent on staying single forever.”

“Honestly, I was. But Jim’s. . . Well, he’s different. There’s something about him I can’t resist.” 

“His rugged charm?” Luisa offered.

“Hah, he’s far too _cultured_ and _civilized_ to have anything rugged about him.”

“Never imagined you with a cultured man,” she said. “What’s he do for a living?”

The question took some of the fun out of the conversation. Sebastian struggled to find something to say. “Well. .  .”

Luisa understood immediately. “He’s in a bad line of work, like you?” she asked quietly. 

“Not quite like me,” he admitted. “In the hierarchy of people in bad lines of work, he’s at the top. He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty.”

“I see.”

“Who’s that?” Jim asked sleepily. He was still stretched out on his back, but his eyes were open and he was watching Sebastian curiously. 

Sebastian tilted the phone away from his mouth and answered, “My sister.”

With a speed that surprised Sebastian, Jim sat up, reached over, and snatched the phone. “You fucking bastard. Give that back,” Sebastian protested.

“Oh, shut up, I just want to say hi.” He leaned away as Sebastian tried to snatch the phone back. “Is this the Luisa I’ve heard to little about?” He didn’t bother greeting her in Spanish. Sebastian wasn’t surprised; Jim had probably known for ages that the whole family was bilingual.

But there was no way this could go well. Between Luisa’s roughness and Jim’s temper, allowing them to talk could only end in disaster. True to his prediction, anger immediately crossed Jim’s features. “I sound like a _what?_ ” 

Caught between the urge to hide his face in his hands and wrestle the phone back from Jim, Sebastian chose damage control. Jim shoved him away. 

“Of _course_ I understand Spanish. Do you take me for some uneducated fool?”

“ _Jim_ ,” Sebastian said warningly. 

“Good God, you’re as crude as he is.”

Sebastian pinned Jim to the sofa and managed to retrieve his phone. Luisa was laughing. “Sorry about that,” he told her. “He _was_ taking a nap.”

“He’s funny,” she said. “I have no idea what you see in him, but he’s funny. You really didn’t tell him about us?” Sebastian let Jim go and settled back onto his half of the sofa. Jim sat up, crossed his arms, and slouched his shoulders. 

“Of course not,” Sebastian said. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “He’s dangerous and nosy as hell, and I wanted to keep him away from you.”

“He wouldn’t hurt us, would he?” she asked in a small voice.

“Not without significant risk to himself, which he knows, so don’t worry.”

“That’s a relief, at least. Oh, hang on.” There was a rustling noise as she covered her phone with her hand, and Sebastian heard her muffled voice as she talked to someone else. 

“Stop pouting,” Sebastian told Jim. “And check your email, there’s work for you.” Jim didn’t budge.

“Bastian? Bartolomé wants to talk to you,” Luisa said, distracting him from Jim’s sulk.

“That’s fine.”

She handed the phone over. “It’s nice of you to call,” Bartolomé said. His words were short and clipped, and Sebastian cringed. 

“I hear you got married,” Sebastian said.

“I wanted to invite you to the wedding, but no one could find you.” 

Yep. Definitely angry. Bartolomé had that quiet sort of anger which cuts like a knife, and Sebastian couldn’t help but feel a little anxious to be on the receiving end of it. “I’m sorry, I really am, but I swear I was only trying to keep you safe.“

“Don’t give me that load of crap. Papá did better before he retired. He was never gone more than a few months at a time. We always knew where he was. That he was _alive_.”

Sudden dread flooded over Sebastian. “Papá was a teacher,” he said carefully.

“I know about it,” Bartolomé said. “I know about all of it.”

Sebastian’s mouth felt too dry. “How long?”

“The whole time.”

There was an awkward silence. Then Bartolomé spoke again. “The girls don’t know they have an uncle,” he said quietly. “I thought you were dead.”

His words were a knife in Sebastian’s heart. Sebastian rubbed his face wearily with his free hand. He didn’t know what to say. Apologies weren’t enough. “I screwed up. I get that. But I’m fixing that now. I swear it won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” Bartolomé sighed. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks.” 

“You should talk to Mamá. She’s been practically floating since Luisa found you.”

Sebastian leaned back against the velvet cushions. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

His mother was exactly as he remembered her. “Bastian! You had us all worried for so long! You could at least write! Drop a postcard in the mail once in a while!”

“I missed you too, Mamá,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “How are you? How’s the bakery?”

“I am getting old,” she complained. “Luisa practically runs things now. It is embarrassing! But she is doing well, and business is good.”

They chatted for a while, Sebastian mostly listening as she summarized six years of town gossip. By the time she had run out of things to say, Jim had finally gotten bored of sulking and gone to look at the things Sebastian had sent him. 

“I wish you would come home,” she told him. 

Sebastian wished the same. “You know I can’t,” he apologized. “Papá wouldn’t allow it.”

“Would you talk to him?” she asked. “So much time has passed, perhaps he’ll change his mind.”

“No. It’s best I don’t.”

A short while later, emotionally drained and unsure if he regretted calling his family or not, Sebastian set down the phone and leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling.

His peace was short-lived.

“You didn’t talk to your father,” Jim remarked, that familiar note of curiosity in his tone. 

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Sebastian answered. 

Jim left his desk and came around the sofa to sit next to Sebastian, watching him carefully. “He’s the reason you won’t go home?”

Sebastian nodded. 

“What happened?”

He’d not spoken of the events surrounding his abrupt departure from home six years previously. Not even to Dan, who’d been there at the time and patiently put up with him while he worked through the vicious cycles of destructive thought that whirled round and round in his head and pieced together the tatters of his shredded emotions. It had been a dark time, and he has no desire to revisit it.

But Jim sat there, watching him, waiting patiently for his answer for once instead of demanding instant gratification for his curiosity. Something inside of Sebastian melted, and he took a deep, fortifying breath.

“He made me promise, when I was a kid, to put him out of his misery when he got old. When he asked me to fulfill that promise, I couldn’t do it.”

“So he threw you out?” 

Sebastian shook his head. “He shot me. Probably would have killed me if Dan hadn’t been there to stop him.”

Jim was quiet. For a fleeting moment, Sebastian thought he might offer some comforting gesture, but he pushed the thought away. Jim didn’t do comforting. 

Instead, Jim dropped his head into Sebastian’s lap and remarked, “He’s a moron. Anyone who can’t pull the trigger themselves doesn’t deserve help.” 

Sebastian trailed his fingers absently through Jim’s hair. “It was more complicated than that.”

“Stop beating yourself up over it. You’re annoying when you sulk.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but chuckle. Jim was just being himself, but for once, it had actually helped.

 

 


	20. Day Forty: Meet the Moriartys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited, unbeta'd. I hate this chapter but hopefully you will like it.

It was the same every bloody year. The invitation came in the post, was summarily burned without being opened, and the event put from his mind. Then, the day before the dreaded affair, his phone would ring. He would, of course, ignore it. If he never saw anything, never talked to anyone, he could claim ignorance and go on with his life as usual. It was the same tired dance every year, culminating with a knock on Jim’s door. He shouldn’t even be able to get into the building! He had no authority here! The doorman might need replacing. Again.

Jim clenched his jaw and refused to look up from his game of Angry Birds. He’d just pretend he wasn’t home. 

His phone buzzed with an incoming text message. He didn’t bother checking it. All that mattered was waiting out the knocking. 

There was another message. Again, he ignored it. Similarly the third.

Then a key turned in the lock and the flat door swung open. Jim took a deep breath to maintain his composure, then looked over his shoulder.

Sebastian was pushing the door open with his shoulder, balancing a paper grocery bag alongside the duffel bag he’d been using to carry around his new gun. Behind him, exuding an aura of patience, was the very man Jim had been trying to avoid. He looked awkward in his blue jeans and olive green jacket, and his dark brown hair, usually slicked back with absurd amounts of some foul-smelling gel, sat in a ridiculous poof on top of his head. He met Jim’s eyes and smiled pleasantly as he stepped through the door behind Sebastian.

“Get out,” Jim snapped.

Sebastian paused on his way to the kitchen and shot a concerned glance at Jim. Jim glared at the intruder. He’d murder Sebastian for letting him in later.

“Rude as ever, I see. And when it’s been such a long time since we’ve seen each other, Jim.”

Jim was vaguely aware that his fingernails were biting into the skin of his palms. “Lovely to see you, James,” he replied mockingly. “Now get out of my flat.”

James ignored his ire. Jim _hated_ when people ignored his ire. “In a moment. I just wanted to pop by to make sure you were coming to Jimmy’s party this evening.”

“I’d rather have my entrails eaten by a sparrow,” Jim said emphatically. 

“I’ll let him know you’ll be there.” James smiled again and half-turned to the door. “You’ve a ticket reserved on the one o’clock flight.” He glanced at Sebastian, who was standing in the kitchen watching the conversation unfold with wide eyes. “I’ll reserve a second one, just in case.” He let himself out; the door closed with a solid thud behind him.

Jim took a deep breath, held it in until he thought his lungs would burst, then exhaled slowly. His fingers twitched as he stretched them out. He bored holes in the door with his eyes as he forced his shoulders to relax.

“Uh,” Sebastian said, with even less grace than usual. “Want me to, you know?” He lifted his duffel bag questioningly.

“No,” Jim spat, and the word tasted like acid on his tongue. “Mind telling me exactly _why_ you thought it would be a good idea to _let him in?_ ”

“You weren’t answering my texts,” Sebastian snapped. 

Jim snatched up his phone from the sofa, where he must have dropped it upon seeing James, and looked at his messages. He’d assumed they were from James, but instead they were all from Sebastian.

_There’s a man at the door. What do you want me to do about him?_

_I can’t stand out here forever. Your ice cream is going to melt._

_Fuck it, I’m coming in._

Some of his anger towards Sebastian drained away. If he hadn’t been caught up in his own dread, he could have told Sebastian to send James away. He flopped back onto the sofa. Two hours until the flight left. He didn’t have a choice: he had to go.

There was a prolonged silence in the flat, in which Jim ran through a hundred different scenarios in his head, trying to find a way out. It was eventually broken by Sebastian. “So. James, was it? Who is he, exactly?”

“My brother,” Jim answered contemptuously. 

“Wait. Your parents named him James and you—“

“And the youngest Jimmy,” Jim interrupted. “Thoroughly dull, uncreative people. So glad they died last year. I don’t have to go to Christmas anymore.”

Sebastian made a noise somewhere between a snort and a choking gurgle. Jim looked up at him. He was staring back at Jim with something akin to disbelief on his face. Jim rolled his eyes. “Yes, I went to Christmas. Birthdays, too. Completely against my own will, I might add.”

“I still can’t believe you never had your family killed,” Sebastian said, shaking his head slowly. “I mean, it seems like the kind of thing you would do.”

“Can’t.” Jim sighed and slumped back against the sofa cushions. “James has certain information which would utterly destroy my life’s work, and safeguards in place in the event that he meets his untimely demise. Until I can figure out exactly _what_ he has, he holds it over me and forces me to ‘be a part of the family.’” 

“He’s smart, too, huh?”

“It would be fun if he didn’t have a nine year head start on getting in my way,” Jim griped. He tried to calm himself by remembering that his long-term investment in getting James out of the picture was going to pay off within the next year. It didn’t work. “And now I have to—“ James had said something about a second ticket. Jim looked at Sebastian. Sebastian was fun most of the time, and he didn’t take shit from anyone. That could be interesting. “You’re coming with me,” Jim announced.

 

* * *

 

Nothing had changed in the accursed sports bar that Jimmy favored, except for the televisions on which the day’s soccer game aired were newer and, if possible, louder. Jim didn’t bother hiding his disgust as he stepped around sticky patches of dried beer and made his way to the back corner where this abhorrent gathering was traditionally held, Sebastian trailing behind him. 

Jimmy was, of course, already there, surrounded by the same three friends he always had hanging around him. Like Jimmy, they were overweight, poorly groomed, and quickly approaching drunkenness. Jimmy waved enthusiastically as Jim and Sebastian approached. 

“Hey! You made it!” he exclaimed. “And you brought a friend! I didn’t think you had any friends.”

Jim clenched his teeth. “I brought a _date_ ,” he clarified. “His name is Sebastian.”

For a moment, something akin to confusion crossed Jimmy’s puffy face. Then he smiled again. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said to Sebastian. “Any friend of my brother’s is a friend of mine. These are my mates: Sedric, Flynn and Garrett.”  They all raised their glasses and muttered generic greetings (Jim suspected at least Garrett had the sense to be properly afraid of him) and immediately got on with their conversation. Jim pulled up a chair and sat down, willing them to continue talking without his involvement. 

Sebastian squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll get us something to drink,” he said.

Jimmy emerged from his heated discussion of Sedric’s new girlfriend and her physical merits to say, “First round’s on me, mate!”

“Get something hideously expensive,” Jim muttered darkly.

In the five minutes Sebastian was gone, Flynn asserted that Sedric’s girlfriend must have had a boob job, Sedric pronounced him jealous and a liar, and Flynn tossed the remainder of his beer at Sedric. The tabletop took most of the liquid, but a lot hit its target, and Jimmy besides. The resulting argument was loud, crude, and gave Jim a headache. Thankfully, they settled things quickly.

A looming presence hovered over Jim’s shoulder. He didn’t bother looking to see who it was: he recognized the cologne, just strong enough to be smelled at close range above the scent of stale alcohol that pervaded the place. “Hello, James,” he said dourly. 

“I’m pleased to see you could make it,” James said with his usual tone of relentless cheer. “And you brought your flatmate as well. I should thank you for that. I had no idea that Reagan was known in your circles.”

Jim’s blood ran cold. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied.

“Oh? Your fellow, what was his name? Sebastian, yes? He greeted my dear assistant as if they were old friends. She pretended she didn’t know him, but I could see she was startled by his presence.”

No. No, no, no. Sebastian _did not_ just ruin three years of hard work. 

“I’ll be replacing her immediately, of course,” James continued. 

“Bugger off,” Jim snapped. 

“Oi, James, leave him alone,” Jimmy said. “Don’t need you two getting into a pissing match before you’re good and drunk.”

It was at that point that Sebastian returned with a whiskey on the rocks for Jim and a pint of some foul-smelling beer for himself. Jim clutched the tumbler tightly, willing his hand not to tremble with the force of his rage. 

“You didn’t drive yourself here,” Sebastian told James. “Go get a beer or something already and joint he party.”

James laughed lightly and made his way to the bar. 

Sebastian sat down next to Jim and leaned close enough to whisper, “What happened?”

“I’m going to murder you,” Jim said darkly. “Slowly and painfully, with my own two hands.”

“Do I get to know why?” Sebastian sipped casually at his beer. “You know, so I can properly regret my actions and plead forgiveness before I die?”

“You said hello to Sasha.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim watched the gears turning in Sebastian’s head as he did the math and figured out what he’d done wrong. His expression went from confused, to comprehending, to hidden behind a palm to his face. “She’s one of yours,” he said.

“Planted on James for three years.”

“And I blew her cover.”

Jim swallowed a mouthful of whiskey.

“ _Mierda_.”

There was an awkward silence between them for a moment, in which Sebastian downed half his beer and Jim closed his eyes against the throbbing in his head and wondered how long he had to stay before this torture would be over.

“You know, this wouldn’t have happened if you’d _warned me_ about her,” Sebastian remarked. “With all your genius, you should have realized I might know her.”

It was true, and it stung Jim’s pride. In his irritation, he’d slipped up and made a mistake and it had cost him his chance to be free of his blasted family. Maybe he should just kill them anyway, and be done with it. Sasha hadn’t been fired yet, and without James to tiptoe around, she could do her job significantly more quickly. “Kill James for me,” he told Sebastian, “and I’ll reconsider murdering you.”

Sebastian shook his head and stood up with more force than was necessary, sending his chair screeching across the uneven stone floor, and wove around the other tables to get back to the bar, where James was placing his order with the bartender.

“Jim, what have you been up to for the last year? Still running that securities thing?” Jimmy asked, drawing Jim back into the tedious chore of making conversation with dimwits.

“I blew up a few people,” Jim answered.

All four morons cracked up laughing. “You’re a funny one,” Flynn told him.

“No seriously,” Jimmy insisted.

Jim sighed. “Can’t talk about it. Top secret and all that.” One of these days he’d invite Jimmy over and show him exactly what it was he did for a living. Right before scooping out his eyes and sending them to James as a gift.

“That’s cool. I’m delivering pizza now. It’s pretty sweet. I get to see a lot of girls in their pajamas.” 

Garrett slapped Jimmy on the back. “That’s awesome.”

Sedric snorted into his pint. “Man, when was the last time you got laid?”

Jim would start with his brother’s boorish little friends. They didn’t even have to be extravagant or creative, just slow and painful. He could make sure they all stayed in the same flat to sleep off the alcohol, lock them in, and burn them alive. Would Sebastian help?

What was taking him anyway? Jim glanced over his shoulder toward the bar. Sebastian was standing with James. Talking. _Laughing_. 

Jim got up and marched over to him, ignoring Jimmy’s question as to where he was going. “It’s impolite to ignore your brother on his birthday,” Jim said to James.

James raised an eyebrow. “Quite right. My apologies, Sebastian, we’ll have to continue this conversation another time.” He left them and went back tot he party. 

“ _Another time?_ ” Jim hissed. 

Sebastian shrugged. “James isn’t that bad.”

“You are _useless_.” Jim slammed his drink down onto the bar and strode quickly to the door and out into the misty Irish afternoon. He was sorely tempted to do something drastic and blow up the entire damn bar, along with everyone in it. This wouldn’t do. He was laying low until after he’d dealt with Sherlock.

At the first thought of Sherlock, he felt calmer. A little work on his pet project wouldn’t hurt. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Karen.

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, he felt calm and in control again. Everything was going according to plan and he could take care of everything else once he’d beaten Sherlock. Already there were ideas forming in his mind as to how to cope with or even evade whatever damage it was that James could dish out. He let himself back into the bar and found the partiers noticeably intoxicated, with the exception of James, and laughing themselves silly.

A shapely woman with short auburn hair and piercing hazel eyes approached them as Jim worked his way toward the back of the bar, leaned down, and handed something to Sebastian. Jim could practically see him squirm with discomfort, and he laughed quietly to himself. She brushed past Jim on her way out, swaying slightly in her heels. If he wasn’t leaving Ireland later that night for home, he’d be tempted to talk his way into her bed. It had been ages since he’d had a woman. 

“She was cute,” Jim said as he took his place beside Sebastian. “Want to invite her over tonight?”

“God, no,” Sebastian said with a shudder. 

“If you’re not gonna call her, give me her number,” Jimmy said. He reached his hand across the table toward Sebastian.

“If she wanted you to have it, she’d have given it to you, not me,” Sebastian told him. He slipped the napkin with her phone number scrawled across it into his pocket.

“She probably just wants a dick. It won’t matter whose it is. Besides, it’s not like she’ll remember one of us from the other in the morning.”

Jim was the only one who noticed the way Sebastian instantly tensed up, like a snake coiled to spring. 

“Alright, I’ve got something for you, then.” Sebastian said coldly. Jimmy didn’t notice. Neither did Flynn or Sedric, but Garrett eyed Sebastian warily. 

Sebastian got to his feet and walked around behind Jim and Flynn. Jimmy, idiot that he was, got up and came to meet him.

What he actually met was Sebastian’s fist. His head shot to the side and the rest of him followed, toppling in an ungainly heap to the floor. Garrett immediately jumped to his feet and threw himself at Sebastian. Sebastian sidestepped him and drove his elbow sharply into Garrett’s spine. Garrett dropped. It was the hottest thing Jim had seen since the night Sebastian had pressed his knife to Jim’s neck. 

Flynn and Sedric didn’t move. 

“Oi! Take it outside!” the bartender shouted at them.

“I think perhaps you’d best be on your way,” James said quietly. Jimmy was sitting up now, dazed. 

Jim laughed. Bringing Sebastian along had been a good idea after all. James would never have allowed Jim to do anything to Jimmy, but Sebastian couldn’t be restrained. “This is the most fun I’ve ever had at this dreary little get together,” he said. “Come on, Tiger, let’s go home.” He looped his arm through Sebastian’s and practically dragged him from the bar, foul mood forgotten. 

“Sorry about that,” Sebastian muttered when they were outside.

“Don’t be,” Jim said, smiling. “I like it when you beat up people I hate.”

 


	21. Day Forty Six: Dan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Dan belongs to and is written by JayKath.

“I’m honestly surprised that he’s found someone like you,” James said around a mouthful of teriyaki. “I mean, he’s never actually been in anything resembling a relationship with another person. It’s always been a sort of ‘use them for sex and then toss them aside’ kind of thing.”

“I’m not sure it’s much different now,” Sebastian said carefully. He stabbed a piece of tofu with his plastic fork and shoved his bruised hopes aside. 

“No, but it is,” James insisted. “I saw the way he looked at you when you left the bar. I’m willing to wager he’s never looked at anyone else that way.”

A warm breeze blew through the park, chasing fluffy clouds across the sky. James had told Sebastian to pick a place for lunch, Sebastian had taken one look at the sunshine and insisted they get takeaway and eat outdoors. Beautiful days were not to be wasted in rainy London. He’d expected them to make the usual getting-to-know each other conversation, in which they talked about the parts of their work that wasn’t necessarily secret, talked about politics or sports or whatever common interests they had, and then maybe trade a few stories about Jim, because as terrifying as Jim was, he was a goldmine for hilarity if you knew how to look.

What he hadn’t expected was to spend lunch talking about his relationship with Jim.

“You’ve never seen the way he looks at Sherlock Holmes, then,” Sebastian remarked. “The moment the damn detective does anything interesting, it’s as if I don’t even exist.”

James frowned. “I’ve been following his games with Holmes, yes. But his obsession is a destructive one. I get the feeling that he actually wants to keep you around.”

That brought back memories of the rocky beginning to their flatshare, where Jim had been too much and Sebastian had stormed out, only to return and find Jim desperately trying to convince him to stay without giving away that he desperately wanted Sebastian to stay. Sebastian chuckled quietly. “It does seem that way sometimes, yeah.”

“What exactly do you see in him?” James asked.

The question gave Sebastian pause. He thought about it for a lone while before he answered with a shrug. “He’s dangerous, confident, and about as immoveable as a boulder. We just sort of work together, and I’m happy to take it without questioning it too much.”

 

* * *

 

Jim was waiting for him when he got home, arms crossed and tapping his foot impatiently. “Where were you?” he demanded. 

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I was having lunch with your brother. He’s in town on business and wanted some company.” He knew it was the wrong thing to say before he’d even opened his mouth, but he’d be damned if he let Jim control his social life or intimidate him into lying about his social activities. So he watched as Jim settled into that unreadable stance he always took when he was furious, his face clearing of all expression and his muscles deceptively relaxed. 

“You’re aware he’s been _blackmailing_ me for the entirety of my life?” Jim asked quietly.

“I’m aware that I don’t particularly care,” Sebastian said. “He’s protecting his family, which is something I can relate to, and he’s not forcing you to give up your life of crime.”

“So you’re going to be _friends_ with him now?” Jim sneered.

Sebastian wasn’t going to put up with this. “Yes, I am.” He marched past Jim into the bedroom, grabbed his ever-ready overnight bag, and then marched back to the door, where he shoved his feet into his boots. “It’s poker night,” he said tersely. “Don’t expect me back until tomorrow.” 

 

* * *

 

He took a long and circuitous route to the poker meetup, trying in vain to clear his head of his frustrations with Jim and James. The Moriarty brothers were nothing alike except in that they both managed to get under his skin. But try as he might, he couldn’t get them out of his head. Between what James was implying over lunch and Jim’s possessiveness, his headspace was clouded. That was never a good thing when it came to cards, but he needed a distraction. If that meant he had to lose a few hands worse than usual before he felt better, then he’d damn well get it over with.

Recently the group had been meeting in the basement of Dylan’s laundromat. It wasn’t the nicest of locations, but it was big enough, well lit, and generally pretty safe provided you didn’t piss anyone off. He let himself in and cast an eye around for an empty seat somewhere amongst the three games currently in progress. Instead he caught sight of a familiar and unexpected face, and felt his mood immediately brighten. As soon as the hand was finished, he grabbed the chair across the table and sat down, ignoring everyone’s greetings in favor of grinning at his best friend. “Dan, why the hell didn’t you tell me you were back in the country?”

Dan smiled easily and leaned his chair back against the wall. “Figured you’d be too wrapped up in work to get away until the weekend. And I had a few errands to take care of before I was ready for company. I figured I’d just find the local game, and you’d show eventually.”

“You got lucky,” Sebastian told him. “I haven’t been playing lately. I’m only here tonight to avoid one of Jim’s temper tantrums.”

Evangeline, sitting to Sebastian’s right, laughed and tossed her long black ponytail back over shoulder. “We were wondering what happened to you,” she teased. “You’re the only easy money we’ve got. Hard to make a profit without you.” She and Sebastian had been deployed together, and she was the one who had brought him to this particular poker group. He was perfectly aware she’d done so because of his legendary lack of skill, but he couldn’t bring himself to be bitter about it, because the best thing about losing his money to them week after week was that they had a strict rule of no credit. You played with the cash you had on hand, and when you were out, you were done. It kept him from repeating his history of racking up a crippling debt he was unable to pay. 

“One of these days I’ll get better,” Sebastian protested half-heartedly. 

Dan shook his head. “You do realize that you’ve been saying that for as long as I’ve known you? Saying that one of these days you’ll wise up and stop playing high-stakes games with cardsharps and math prodigies would make much more sense.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sebastian replied. He nodded to Dylan. “Deal us a hand already, would you?”

Much to everyone’s surprise, but most of all his own, Sebastian won the first hand. It seemed Jim’s lessons had actually worked, at least a little bit. Caleb demanded to know how he’d done it, but he refused to say. There was no way he’d let them know he’d been getting lessons. He’d never hear the end of it. The second hand went to Dan, which wasn’t unexpected. Sebastian was sure he’d take the third, raising until everyone but Evangeline had folded. She wavered, but in the end she called his bluff and won. 

From there Sebastian’s luck went downhill as everyone caught on to his improved skills and re-learned how to read him. He was starting to run low on cash when Dan declared they were done.

“Don’t be such a spoilsport,” Sebastian told him. “I’m still having fun.”

“So you’d rather I leave you here until you’ve lost enough that you don’t have enough on you for drinks?” Dan asked. His tone clearly stated that he knew Sebastian was going to come with him.

He was right, of course. Sebastian would much rather spend his time with Dan than gambling any day, and it had been far too long since they’d had actual time to catch up. “Fine.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “I’m out. See you guys around.”

“Don’t stay away so long next time,” Dylan told him. 

“I’ll try. No promises.”

 

* * *

 

It had rained while they were playing, and the street lamps reflected brightly off the puddles filling the low-lying bits of pavement. Though the air was still and chilly, all the warmth from the sunshine-filled afternoon having slipped away, the night was still young and the streets were bustling with cars and pedestrians alike. Sebastian took a moment to breathe in the night air and just appreciate London, then grinned at Dan. “Where to?”

“Well, your choice,” Dan answered. “Night in at my place, and we’ll pick up something on the way over, or we can find a bar. I haven’t got any pressing business tonight, and if one of the kids needs me, they call my phone anyway. Annoying brats.”

The decision didn’t take much thought. He was still annoyed with Jim, and by now he’d learned that Jim could find him no matter what pub or bar he hid out in. He didn’t want to runt he risk of Jim, having decided he needed Sebastian for something right now, tracking him down and coming face to face with Dan. The two of them would probably kill each other.  “A night in sounds fantastic.”

“Right. There’s a corner store three streets over that has a decent selection. I do have to warn you: I have probably ten kids on my xbox network now. I found a few more in Asia.” That didn’t surprise Sebastian in the least. Dan was the type to take in strays and look after them, in his own way, an odd trait in a mercenary. Once upon a time he’d done the same for Sebastian.

“They any good?”

“They’re. . . Learning. Bit like you when you first started playing with us. Speaking of which, Henri’s been sulking for weeks because you haven’t been around to play. The other kids now think you’re some sort of legend, when they aren’t accusing him of having imaginary friends.”

Sebastian laughed. It _had_ been a long time since he’d gone a round or five with Henri. “Sounds like I need to pop in and say hello. Teach a few lessons, maybe.” The thought was a pleasant one. He’d only been playing strangers, mostly teenagers with lousy coordination, since moving in with Jim. “It’ll be nice to have some decent competition again, too. Jim is utterly hopeless.” He cringed inwardly; he hadn’t meant to bring up Jim.

If it bothered Dan, he didn’t let it show. “Nice to know that Moriarty has _something_ he isn’t good at. Though he’d probably decimate if it were strategy rather than aim that was most important. Which would be rather amusing to watch. . . Heh—nevermind. I don’t need Moriarty. You can help me put the cocky brats in their place.” 

Dan spoke easily as he walked, telling Sebastian about the jobs he had just finished, the new network additions, and his ventured in touring Asia. Sebastian listened attentively, falling into the camaraderie that he and Dan shared as naturally as if they hadn’t spent much of the last year on different continents. He was sad to have missed out on Asia, and told Dan as much. “I think I’ve had one job outside of England in the last six months, and that was bullying around some biologist on Australia. I’m starting to go a little stir crazy.”

Dan paused, looking at him thoughtfully. “I have a two-day we could go do tomorrow,” he offered. “Korea. We could just hop on a plane and go. I’ve the file at my flat, and you’d hardly be gone for any real amount of time. I defy even Moriarty to track you down while we’re gone.”

Sebastian refrained from telling Dan that actually, Jim could easily find him no matter where he went. Fortunately, his scheme against Sherlock had him so busy, he wouldn’t have the time to devote to finding his runaway flatmate. “Just two days?” He knew he shouldn’t just take off and leave the country, let alone the city, without advance warning to Jim. He had duties to attend to since he’d convinced Jim to let him manage most of his criminal network. But it had been far too long since Sebastian had worked a job with Dan, and he’d never been to Korea. Besides, he could use a break from Jim before he forgot why he liked the runt so much and decided to kill him in his sleep. Only two days, and the weekend at that: Jim could handle himself for that long without Sebastian’s help. “What the hell, I’m in. I’ve been bored since I got promoted to management. It’ll be fun to get back in the thick of things.”

“Of course. With the added benefit of annoying someone who greatly annoys me. I do so enjoy making a good first impression.” Dan grinned mischievously, which worried Sebastian. He did a quick mental review of all Jim’s current projects, to make sure none of them were in Korea. “This will be _great fun_.”


	22. Day Forty Nine: Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Dan belongs to and is written by JayKath.

Jim was starting to worry. 

Well, to be more accurate, he was starting to acknowledge his worry. 

Sebastian had indeed not come home Thursday night. This was not unexpected. What _was_ unexpected was complete radio silence the following day. Texts got no answer, calls went straight to voicemail, and his responsibilities as Jim’s second-in-command went neglected. By the time Jim had caught up on everything Sebastian was supposed to be taking care of, it was late Friday night and there was still no sign of him. 

So Jim did the reasonable thing and tracked him via the GPS on his phone, only to find him in Korea. 

Jim had nothing going on in Korea. Sebastian did not have either of his guns with him. There was no conceivable reason for Sebastian to be there. Jim tried calling him again. Sebastian did not answer.

The following day, Sebastian was still in Korea. Jim became aware that Sebastian had taken with him everything he really needed. He could replace everything else, except maybe the air-powered rifle Jim had given him, but he’d gotten along perfectly fine without it before. There was still no answer when Jim called.

Finally, Sebastian had returned to London. Jim had expected to see him shortly and prepared a string of questions and accusations designed specifically to get the truth about his trip to Korea from Sebastian. But Sebastian did not come home. 

Jim started to worry. 

Sebastian wasn’t allowed to leave. Jim wasn’t done with him yet. It seemed that Sebastian was in need of a reminder about who he belonged to. 

 

* * *

 

He tracked Sebastian’s phone to a worn and weathered brick building. It was nondescript and boring; perfect for an assassin trying to stay hidden. There were three buzzers by the door, one for each flat inside, with no names attached to them. Jim peered through the ground-floor window and saw a middle-aged woman playing with a toddler in the front room. He wouldn’t be able to check the windows of the other flats unless he wanted to climb the fire escape, which he didn’t, so he picked the lock and let himself in. 

Under other circumstances, Jim would have made sure he knew which flat Sebastian was in before he let anyone know he was in the building. But he was worried and impatient, so he’s have to make do with pretending he’d already figured it out. He crept up the first flight of stairs and knocked.

The door opened promptly. “Hello?” The man who answered was slightly taller than average, tanned—he’d obviously been out of the country—and blond. “Oh, it’s just you.” He wasn’t at all surprised. Interesting. He leaned back around the door, holding it firmly, and called to someone inside, “Hey, sweetheart—your long-expected guest just showed up. Do I have to let him in, or are we still mad at him?”

The response was a loud, defeated groan which Jim immediately recognized as Sebastian. Anger surged within Jim: who did this person think he was, calling Sebastian “sweetheart?” Sebastian was returning home right that instant. Jim stepped forward, fully intending to push his way past the man at the door and drag Sebastian out, with force if necessary.

The man turned back to him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to try again tomorrow,” he stated, then abruptly closed the door. The deadbolt snapped shut a moment later.

For a long moment, Jim simply stared at the door in disbelief. _No one_ shut doors in his face. Not even Sebastian, who was stupidly unafraid of him. Jim was going to murder that man. He pounded the door with his fist. “I’m not leaving,” he called, raising his voice to be sure he was heard. “You’ve got something of mine and I want it back.”

“I don’t work for you, and _I don’t care!”_ came the sing-song reply. “Possession is nine tenths of the law! And ten tenths of the law in our line of work.”

“God dammit, Dan,” Sebastian said. “Do you _want_ him to burn the building down?”

So the mystery man was the Dan character Jim had been unable to find. And now Jim knew at least one of the places he lived. At least something good had come of Sebastian’s disappearance.

The deadbolt scraped and the door opened again. Sebastian stood on the other side this time, glaring disapprovingly at Jim. “Do we have to repeat the discussion we had before about boundaries?” he asked.

As Jim recalled it, that “discussion” had eventually led to some fantastic sex. He licked his lips and smirked. “Perhaps we should.”

Sebastian swore under his breath. “You self-centered—what the hell are you doing here?”

“You didn’t come home. You went to Korea. Why?”

“I was hanging out with Dan. Which I am still doing, by the way. I’ll come home when I’m done.”

Leaving Sebastian alone with Dan any longer was simply not an option. Already Sebastian had completely abandoned his responsibilities. He might abandon Jim entirely next, and end up somewhere else completely out of the way, like Antarctica or Tuvalu. “I’m not leaving without you,” Jim insisted.

“Then you’ll have to wait.” Sebastian stepped back and held the door open, inviting him in.

The flat was neat and orderly, but simple and plain. It wasn’t a place that was often lived in, likely one of several places scattered around the United Kingdom. Dan was watching him over the back of the sofa. He’d make a nice and gruesome edition to some wax museum. It _had_ been such a long time since Jim had played a game of hide the body in plain sight and see how long it takes someone to notice. 

As if reading his thoughts, Sebastian said firmly, “You are not allowed to kill Dan.”

Now _that_ was interesting. Sebastian wasn’t bothered by threats against his family’s lives, but he hadn’t even verbalized a murderous thought about Dan and Sebastian was warning him off. What was Dan to Sebastian?

“You’re no fun at all,” Jim complained. 

“And you could clearly use a new hobby. You do realize that people leave when you get too clingy, yes?” Dan drawled, before returning his attention to the television, where one of the point-and-shoot games Sebastian liked so much was paused. 

“I’m not _clingy_ ,” Jim hissed. 

Sebastian burst out laughing and walked around him to join Dan on the sofa.

“What?” Jim demanded.

“Nothing,” Sebastian said, waving his hand as if to brush away Jim’s question. He looked inquiringly at Dan, grinning mischievously. “Want him to join the game?”

Dan waited until the silence had become awkward before asking, “Do you expect me to play nicely?”

“When have I ever expected that?” Sebastian replied. 

“There’s always a first time!” Dan protested. “But so long as this isn’t it, sure, he can play.”

Jim bristled. He did not like the way they talked about him as if he weren’t standing right there in the room with them, and he especially did not like how easily Sebastian chose staying with Dan over coming home when Jim had gone to the trouble of coming to pick him up. “I don’t need to play some pathetic little game,” he said tersely. 

“It’s that or stand around bored,” Sebastian told him, completely unruffled by Jim’s mood. He plugged another controller into the console, then sat down again, closer to Dan this time, then patted the space between himself and the arm of the sofa. “Come on.”

Dan leaned back and threw an arm around Sebastian’s shoulders, then glanced back at Jim. “Why, afraid you’ll lose?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge. 

It was to be _that_ kind of game, was it? Jim noted with a vague sense of unease that Sebastian did not shrug off Dan’s arm. He sat down next to Sebastian, close enough that their knees touched. “I’ll  play your game so long as you come home afterward,” he said. “It’s boring without you.” He had to tread carefully here. When pushed, Sebastian pushed back. In this situation, that was the last thing Jim wanted. He needed Sebastian to _want_ to leave with him. Anything else would be defeat.

Sebastian laughed. “Yeah, I missed you, too. Just be nice when you get your arse kicked.”

Reluctantly, Jim joined their game. As was usual, his fingers fumbled for the right buttons and his reaction time was appallingly slow. He’d never played with anyone other than Sebastian, and with the screen split three ways instead of two, he had difficulty keeping track of which character was his. By the time he’d gotten used to it, he’d died eight times and neither Dan nor Sebastian was paying any attention to him.

At one point, someone (he couldn’t tell who) started bombarding him with grenades. He tried to duck and hit the wrong button, firing his gun instead, somehow managing to kill someone in the process. “Damn it!” Dan growled. Jim smiled in satisfaction, but his victory was short-lived. As soon as Dan’s character re-spawned, he exacted a swift and silent revenge. Jim settled for trying not to make a fool of himself and watching the intense rivalry between Dan and Sebastian with growing discomfort.

After forty five minutes of this torture, the timer ran out and the game stats were displayed. Dan had been killed eight times, Sebastian ten, and Jim a truly cringe-worthy twenty eight. He vowed he would never play this accursed game again. He had a reputation to maintain. 

Dan turned to Sebastian and grinned as if he’d won something. Jim supposed he and Sebastian had something riding on the game. “Paella,” Dan stated triumphantly. “And yes, I already bought shrimp.”

“That’s three times in a row,” Sebastian grumbled. 

“You’ve only been playing with _amateurs_. Obviously you’re losing. Henri could have beaten you today. Now pay up.”

Jim caught Dan’s brief glance in his direction at the word “amateurs” and immediately tensed up. Sebastian laid a restraining hand on his arm, reminding Jim that there was something more than his pride at stake here and he needed to have at least a pretense of civility. He held his tongue. 

“Don’t kill or maim each other while I’m cooking, alright?” Sebastian asked as he got to his feet. “I don’t want to have to play referee while I’m sautéing seafood.”

Jim made no promises, but followed Sebastian into the kitchen. He noted with distaste that Sebastian know exactly where everything he needed was, and moved about the space as if it were his own home. It had taken him weeks to get comfortable like that in Jim’s flat, but he’d only been with Dan for three days, two of which were spent in Korea. This indicated that Sebastian had lived here with Dan in the past.  

He considered the facts. Sebastian was obviously intimately familiar with the way Dan kept his home, and Dan was similarly comfortable letting Sebastian have free reign within it. There was only one bedroom in the flat. Sebastian was unbothered by Dan’s touch, despite his assassin’s instincts, which required a level of trust that was rare in Sebastian’s line of work. Dan’s body language was completely hostile towards Jim, and he seemed hellbent on disputing Jim’s claim on Sebastian. It was very probably that they’d been lovers in the past, and somehow parted on good terms.

That made Dan someone to watch out for. 

Dan came to lean in against the doorway. “Will it brighten your day if I volunteer for breakfast?”

Sebastian’s shoulders drooped. “Don’t tease me, Dan. I can’t stay.” But he obviously wanted to. It didn’t take Jim’s genius to see that.

“You _could_ ,” Dan said. 

Jim curled his hands into tight fists at his sides and bit his tongue. 

“You know I’d love to,” Sebastian sighed. “But if I don’t take the grump home, he’s likely to do something annoying and unreasonably dramatic.”

All of Jim’s tenuous self-control slipped from his grasp. He would put up with veiled insults in order to win this game, but outright name-calling was out of the question. He’d tried playing nice, and it had clearly been stupid of him to do so. Nice never got anyone anywhere. He’d let them both think he could be pushed around. Well, not anymore. He took his phone from his pocket and started scrolling through his contacts. “You do realize I can have people on premises in less time than it takes you to cook dinner?” he asked coldly. He looked pointedly at Dan. “He _is_ mine, you know, however annoying he is, and if you’re not careful, I _will_ be the only one to walk out of here alive.”

There was a loud clacking sound as Sebastian forcefully set the knife he was using on the countertop. He swiveled around and stalked predatorily across the kitchen towards Jim. Gleefully anticipating the confrontation, Jim prepared to match Sebastian word for word. 

It had slipped his mind that Sebastian tended to accompany words with force. Sebastian shoves him against the wall and pinned him there with his forearm across Jim’s throat, exerting just enough pressure to make breathing difficult. With his free hand, he plucked Jim’s phone from his grasp and shoved it in his own pocket. 

“We’ve been over this before,” Sebastian said. He spoke quietly, but there was an authoritativeness in his voice that both infuriated and excited Jim. It had been far too long since he’d seen this side of his pet. “You do not own me. You do not control me. And if you insist on trying, I _will_ slit your throat in your sleep.”

“No you won’t,” Jim rasped, aware and uncaring that he was smiling like a madman. 

Sebastian met his eyes unwaveringly. “Are you sure about that?”

They stared intensely at one another for a long moment. All of Jim’s murderous thoughts and plans were driven out of his head by his desire to tear Sebastian’s clothes off and leave teeth marks all across his skin. Sebastian’s face was flushed, and his pupils were dilated, telling Jim that he was similarly affected. In that moment, he _knew_ Sebastian was his.

Sebastian swallowed hard. “I’m going to finish cooking now,” he told Jim. “And you are going to behave. Understand?”

Jim nodded.

“Good.” Sebastian released him and went back to the stove. You can have your phone back when we leave.”

 

* * *

 

Over the course of dinner, Jim drew his final conclusions about Dan. Intelligent, good at his job, but too sarcastic for Jim’s tastes and a little too moral to be of any use on Jim’s projects. Now that Jim had met him, he’d have to keep an eye on him. It would be safer to have Dan killed, thus eliminating the potential threat, but he’d have to arrange it in such a way that Sebastian never found out it was him. Jim added it to his mental checklist of things to do once Sherlock was out of the picture. 

“We should get going,” Sebastian said at last, much to Jim’s enormous relief. 

“If you must,” Dan sighed. “I suppose I should get back to work. It was good to see you though, Ian. Remember to ring me once in a while, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” Sebastian agreed. “Watch your back out there.”

Dan glanced at Jim, then leveled his gaze at Sebastian. “Can I have a minute, before you go?”

Before Jim could protest, Sebastian was pushing him out the door. “I’m coming, I promise. Just wait here.” He shut the door, leaving Jim standing in the dark stairwell, wondering what it was Dan wanted to say.

The obvious thing to do was to stoop and listen at the keyhole. 

“What is it?” he heard Sebastian ask. 

Dan said something in response, but he must have been speaking quietly and leaning in close to Sebastian, because Jim couldn’t make out the words.

“Of course I know that,” Sebastian said. “It’s a possibility I’m prepared for. But Dan—“ He paused. “I’m _happy_. I need— Please, let me have this.”

“Alright,” Dan said. “Just, _please_.” He lowered his voice again, so that Jim only caught the last few words. “Damn it, Ian.”

“I won’t.”

It wasn’t hard for Jim to figure out that Dan was warning Sebastian away from him, and Sebastian wasn’t going to listen. Jim suppressed a triumphant grin and backed away from the door just as it opened and Sebastian let himself out.

“It’s about time,” he whined.

Sebastian snaked his arm around Jim’s waist. “I didn’t make you come over here, you know.”

Jim rolled his eyes. He didn’t care. He’d won.

 


	23. Day Fifty Five: Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited and unbeta'd.

Sebastian put away the last of the lunch dishes and wandered back into the sitting room. Jim was at his desk, where he’d been all day, on the phone with someone sorting out the details of his plan. Something about bread crumbs and a plant in the Met. It had been the same over the course of the last week. All of Jim’s spare time was thrown into his pet project. He was determined to have everything go perfectly, and as a result, Sebastian found himself increasingly ignored. He was starting to wish he’d gone off to France with Dan.

His phone rang. A glance at the caller ID told him it was James. He knew he shouldn’t answer, seeing as the mere mention of his older brother sent Jim into fits of rage, but Jim was distracted and Sebastian was bored out of his mind.

He shrugged and greeted James with, “Haven’t you gone back to Ireland yet?”

James laughed. _“Not yet, no. Business is taking longer than anticipated. My afternoon is free. How would you feel about getting together for a pint?”_

Sebastian looked at Jim and considered. Jim definitely wouldn’t like it. But then again, Sebastian didn’t have to tell him where he was going. “Sounds good. Where at?”

 

* * *

 

“It’s completely unfair,” Sebastian complained over his (Third? Fourth? He’d lost count somewhere.) beer. “I could follow him around like a lost puppy, and he’d still ignore me. Who the hell ignores a puppy?”

They were seated at a sticky table in some small and dim pub of the kind James seemed to favor. Sebastian would have picked someplace a little cleaner, but overall it didn’t matter to him what sort of place he was in once he started drinking.

“Then don’t let him ignore you,” James said. “He’ll lose interest if you sit there and take it.”

“I had to run away to _Korea_ to get his attention last time,” Sebastian said. He slumped forward and propped his head up on his hand. “Why’d I have to fall in love with such a complete tosser?” He didn’t even care that he was talking to Jim’s brother. No one who knew Jim could possibly disagree with Sebastian’s assessment of his character.

James eyed him curiously. “Have you told him yet?”

“What?”

“That you love him.”

Sebastian laughed bitterly. “Hell no. It’d be like signing my own death sentence.”

James leaned forward across the table. “I think you should tell him.”

Sebastian stared at him. “You’re serious.”

“Jim has never been good with people. He’s probably scared you’ll leave him and doesn’t want his fear to show.”

“Have you even met your brother?” The problem was Jim’s obsession with Sherlock, and nothing else. Sebastian knew this, and he couldn’t afford to let himself think otherwise. 

“I watched him grow up,” James said. “Don’t you think I’d know him better than anyone else?”

“You’re delusional,” Sebastian said. “Fucking delusional. He doesn’t see people as fellow human beings. We’re all just toys to him, waiting to be played with. And I’m not even his favorite toy.” He lifted his glass to his lips, then paused thoughtfully. “You’re probably just some annoying pest, though.”

James hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll grant you that. But I’m telling you, it’ll make a difference, his knowing. Jim can change, and he will, if he has reason to.”

They changed topics for a while, trying to find something else in common to talk about. Sebastian didn’t care about sports, James was in a government position and thus neither of them could talk about their jobs, and they had not a single hobby in common. So, inevitably, they came back to Jim. 

By this time, Sebastian was well and truly sloshed. “D’you really think he’s capable of feeling love and stuff?” he asked, stumbling over his words. 

“Yes,” James assured him.

“I mean, he’s possessive. Won’t let me do anything without his say-so.” Sebastian burst into childish giggles. “And you should’ve seen him, fighting over me with my best mate. If I didn’t know better, I’d’ve thought he was jealous.”

“I bet you he was,” James said. “Jim’s the most jealous person I know. We had a dog, when we were kids, an’ he taught it all these tricks, but if anyone else tried to play with the mutt, Jim threw such a fit.”

Sebastian tried to fit the idea of Jim having a dog into his mind, but failed. Dogs were too needy, and Jim _hated_ neediness. Didn’t he? If anything, Jim was the needy one.

 _Jim was the needy one_. The thought stuck in his head and wouldn’t leave him alone. It made sense, but there was something about it that didn’t sit right with him. He couldn’t put his finger on it. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “He’s not like that. Least, not anymore.”

 

* * *

 

He remembered that he wasn’t supposed to come home drunk, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jim had been a right arse to him all week, barking orders and then ignoring him. Sebastian wasn’t going to put up with it. Besides, where else would he go? Dan’s flat was always open to him, but he couldn’t remember how to disable the security, and he didn’t really have anyone else he’d call a friend. He had drinking buddies and a poker group, but no one in either social circle was the kind of person who’d take him in when his flatmate didn’t want him around.

Jim would just have to get over himself.

He fumbled with his keys in the lock, dropped them, then tried again. When he pushed open the door, clinging to it for support while his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the light in the flat, Jim didn’t even look up from his computer. “I’m back,” Sebastian announced.

Jim didn’t acknowledge him. 

Sebastian slammed the door shut. Jim jumped and stared at him, bewildered. “You went out?” Jim asked.

Bastard hadn’t even known he was gone. 

“Course I went out, moron,” Sebastian muttered. “I’m not stupid enough to sit around all day waiting on you to tell me when to jump.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

Sebastian ignored him and fought with the laces on his boots. 

“You know the rules,” Jim said tersely.

“Fuck you,” Sebastian snapped, yanking his boots off and tossing them next to the door. “And fuck the rules.” 

“What are you so angry about?” Jim asked impatiently.

“You,” Sebastian answered sharply. He straightened and stared at Jim for what felt like forever. Weariness and frustration lined Jim’s face. Sebastian had expected him to shout and throw him out, make him sleep in the hall again, _something_ other than irritably accept his presence in the flat.

James’s words echoed in his head. He thought again how needy Jim was, how utterly clingy. Perhaps. . . 

“No,” he said aloud. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” But the idea wouldn’t leave him. What was the worst that could happen? Jim would laugh in his face? Kick him out? Send out a hit on him? It wasn’t as if Sebastian hadn’t dealt with all these threats before and come out fine.

“Just go to bed,” Jim grumbled. “I’ve got work to do.”

“No,” Sebastian told him. “I have something to say to you.”

Jim raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Sebastian’s heart pounded in his chest. “I am in love with you,” he said clumsily. “You treat me like shite and I stick around anyway because, god help me, I am in love with you.” Jim’s expression was unreadable. Sebastian started to panic. “It’s not that— I don’t—“

“Stop being stupid and go to bed,” Jim interrupted. “You’re drunk and it’s annoying.”

Sebastian blinked at him. Jim shook his head and turned back to whatever it was he was working on, his fingers flying over his keyboard. That was not anywhere in the range of reactions Sebastian had expected. Not knowing what else to do, Sebastian shuffled into the bathroom, took a piss, and then collapsed onto the bed. He passed out almost immediately.

 


	24. Day Fifty Six: Separation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited and unbeta'd.

Everything was in place. All Jim needed to do now was make sure none of the assassins he’d lured to London actually touched Sherlock, and introduce himself to that intrepid journalist who was stalking Sherlock at the trial. He leaned back in his chair at the table, cradling a warm mug of tea between his hands and feeling pleased with himself. 

He found his thoughts turning to last night, when Sebastian had made a fool of himself by coming home drunk. Of particular interest was his desperate confession of love. Jim smiled giddily. He’d never had anyone genuinely in love with him before. He’d always considered it to be not worth the effort to try to make someone fall for him. But with Sebastian, he hadn’t done anything but be himself. It was perfect. Once the dust settled after Sherlock was dead, Jim would have plenty of time to test the limits of Sebastian’s feelings for him and see just how far he could push Sebastian with those feelings as leverage and a powerful tool of manipulation. 

At the sound of the bedroom door opening, Jim turned in his seat to see Sebastian finally emerging after having slept half the morning away. There were bags under his eyes, his hair was a tousled mess, and he raised his hand to shield his eyes from the light. Definitely hungover. Oh well, Jim thought. His problem. 

“Morning,” Sebastian said. Jim noted with amusement the wary and hesitant tone of Sebastian’s greeting. He clearly remembered what he said. 

There would be time to explore the possibilities later. Now was the time for work. “I need you to take your things and go to a flat I’ve acquired on Baker Street,” Jim said matter-of-factly.  

Sebastian froze and stared at him. “What?”

“There are some assassins in your class circling around Sherlock, and they are getting desperate. They cannot be allowed to touch him. I can’t trust anyone else to make sure they keep their distance.”

 

* * *

 

It was not hard to track down Kitty Riley’s phone number. It _was_ , however, difficult to convince her to hear him out. She’d been at the trial, and had been as shocked as everyone else when Jim had walked. She was wary, and with good reason. 

“Look, I’ll, I’ll meet you wherever you want, just please, I need to tell someone. If I don’t, he’ll just do it again and again and no one will stop him.” He’d called her every day during the past week, and today he felt she was finally wearing down.

 _“Bring your proof, and then maybe I’ll listen to you,”_ she told him. She gave him the name of a café near her office.

“Thank you, really, thank you. You won’t regret this.”

 

* * *

 

She was sitting at a corner table well away from the window when he got there. He ran a hand through his hair one more time, for maximum wild fluff, then approached her cautiously, cradling a folder full of falsified documents in his arm. “Miss Riley?” has asked timidly.

“Well, sit down,” she said. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He set the folder on the table before pulling out the chair across from her and lowering himself into it. She took the folder and flipped through its contents, seeking the documents which would verify his identity. After examining them for a moment, she said, “These can be faked. You understand it might take some time to verify their authenticity?”

“Of course.” Jim wasn’t worried. The only way she’d know they were fakes was if she battled her way through the Irish bureaucracy and had the records double-checked. She wouldn’t, of course. She was itching to dig her fingers into this story. As long as everything looked legitimate, she would take it and run with it. Desperate for her big break, she’d believe his story about being desperate for work. “I put some things about Sherlock in there, too,” he added. “Emails and stuff.”

She shuffled the papers until she found what he was talking about. “I see.” She skimmed them, then looked him in the eye, nervous but unwilling to back down. “I need to do some research before we talk. I’ll call you.”

“Thank you,” Jim breathed. “No one would listen to me. You don’t know how much this means.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” she warned, though her conviction was weak. She put everything back int he folder and took it with her when she left. Jim stayed in the café for a while, letting himself enjoy the anticipation of victory. He was close. So very, very close.

 

 


	25. Day Sixty Two: Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited and unbeta'd.

Sebastian peered out the blinds at the street, where Ludmila was getting into her truck and driving away. He sighed, looked at his phone, and shoved it in his pocket. He was not going to call Jim just because he was bored. He would not be clingy. That was what had gotten him into this mess. If only he’d kept his damn mouth shut. . . 

Surveillance jobs were the worst. He didn’t mind sitting for long hours staring out a window if he was waiting for a target. There was the satisfaction of the kill at the end, of a successful hunt. Patience wasn’t his problem. It was when he was supposed to watch, but do nothing, that he got fidgety. He glanced across at his xbox, wishing he could lose himself in a game for hours on end, but he had to watch Sherlock’s comings and goings. 

He turned to the camera feed on the laptop Jim had given him, streaming footage from inside 221B. Sherlock was still sitting in the same place he’d been hours ago, hands steepled beneath his chin, staring into space. Sebastian rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. The damn detective had a habit of running off in the middle of the night, which meant Sebastian wasn’t getting a lot of sleep. If only he could have a nap. 

Without realizing it, he’d taken his phone out and was gripping it tightly. Alright, he thought. One phone call, just to check in. 

Jim picked up on the second ring. _“Anything new?”_

“I finally had a chance to get the camera inside last night,” he said. “Other than that, not much. No one new has stuck around. There were a few suspicious characters this morning, but they caught sight of Ludmila and Sulejmani and hightailed it out of here.”

 _“Scared off by the big fish,_ ” Jim said, pleasure evident in his voice. 

“Is there anything else you need me to do?” Sebastian asked hopefully. “Sherlock’s set to stay inside all afternoon. I can come by and—“

Jim cut him off. _“No, keep up the surveillance. Oh, and make sure you're seen.”_

“Yes, Boss.” The little part of Sebastian that had been hoping he’d get to see Jim today evaporated. It had been a week. Nearly seven whole days. He knew this was some sort of punishment for confessing his feelings to Jim. There had been no mention of Sebastian spending the two weeks before the big day alone in a flat at Baker Street, stuck babysitting Sherlock Holmes, until the morning after he’d told Jim how he felt. It was his own goddamn fault he was in this mess. 

“ _In the next few days, one of my men will be showing up at 221_ ,” Jim said. _“He’ll stick around for a while. I’m sending you his photograph. Please don’t kill him.”_

“Understood.”

Jim hung up on him. 

The silence of his flat made him jumpy. 

He had to talk to someone. Jim wasn’t an option, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to call Dan to complain about how he’d royally screwed up his relationship with Jim. That left only one person: his sister. 

 _“Bastian!”_ she greeted cheerily. _“How are you?”_

“Miserable,” he told her. “Luisa, I think I screwed up with Jim.”

_“Tell me what happened.”_

He spent the next hour on the phone with her, explaining the situation. She was sympathetic, which was a welcome relief, and reassured him that things were probably not as bad as they seemed. _“If he’s like you say he is, then he’s probably just really focused on this project of his. He’ll finish it up soon, and then he’ll take you back. You’ll see.”_

It was something to hope for, at least. 

Sebastian glanced at the laptop again and saw Sherlock pulling on his coat. Time to do a bit of tailing. “Thanks, Luisa. I’ve got to get going, but I’ll call you soon, okay?”

_“Take care, Bastian.”_

He grabbed his gun bag and slipped out the door. Just one more week, he told himself. One more week, and everything would be okay.


	26. Day Sixty Seven: In Motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited and unbeta'd.

The entire afternoon had been spent sitting on the edge of his seat, scouring the news for anything about a suspicious character at St. Aldate’s. This was the worst part, waiting in the dark while someone less competent took care of an incredibly important task. Night fell, and still no word that anything had gone wrong. 

Jim picked at his takeaway pasta from the Italian place down the street and wished, not for the first time in the last twelve days that Sebastian was there. Sebastian would have cooked something special to mark the momentous occasion, and they would have had one another to talk to while waiting from an update from Swern. 

At half past midnight, Jim’s phone finally rang. He answered it immediately. 

 _“Sir,”_ Karen said. _“I’ve just spoken with Swern. The children are locked in the factory. They were not followed.”_

“Excellent,” Jim replied. “Is everything in place?”

_“Yes. Shall I order the hit on him now?”_

Jim pondered. “No, have him stay with the children until dawn. We don’t want them making noise.”

_“Understood.”_

Success! Jim switched on his sound system and blared the Bee Gees in triumph. He indulged in a few minutes of joyous dance before settling down to work on the next part of his plan. He needed to go see Kitty Riley.

 

* * *

 

She was asleep when he called. _“Richard? It’s one in the morning.”_

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said frantically, whispering into the phone. “He’s seen the papers, Kitty. I’ve been ignoring his calls but now he knows I’m selling him out and I don’t know what to do.”

 _“You think he might come after you?”_ she asked. 

“I don’t know. Probably. He’s got a temper, and well. I don’t know where to go. He knows where I live.”

 _“Come here,”_ she said immediately. _“He won’t find you here, and you’ll be safe until the story runs and the police take over.”_

“Oh, thank you, you are an angel,” he told her. “I’ll come right now.”

Jim smiled gleefully. Another piece of the plan had just fallen into place. Everything was going smoothly. He picked up his overnight bag and slipped outside into the night. When next he came home, Sherlock would be nothing but another body in the morgue, his reputation ruined.


	27. Day Sixty Nine: Without Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited and unbeta'd. Dan belongs to and is written by JayKath.

Two text messages awoke Sebastian, both from Jim. He’d been trying to get in a couple of hours rest after spending half the night running around the neighborhood on rooftops, killing his fellow assassins. He fumbled for his phone and squinted against the light of the screen in the darkened flat. 

The first message was the one he’d been waiting for: _It’s time._

The second he didn’t understand. _Ceiling above bed._ The message also contained a sequence of numbers which he couldn’t make heads or tails of. 

He sent a reply: _What is this?_

Then he got up and got dressed. Watson would be making his way to Baker Street, and Sebastian needed to get to St. Bart’s before the doctor wised up to the situation and went back. He’d either shoot Sherlock Holmes’s steadfast companion today, or Sherlock would end up dead. Either way, he’d be going home to Jim at the end of the day. He couldn’t wait.

 

* * *

 

He kept one eye on Sherlock and another on the road. Sherlock was standing on the ledge, looking down, with Jim behind him. No sign of Watson so far. Then Sherlock stepped back and started circling around Jim. More talking. Trying to buy time, no doubt. Sebastian was certain Jim had thought of everything. Sherlock wouldn’t worm his way out if this trap. 

A cab turned onto the street, and Sebastian turned his full attention to it. 

A gunshot sounded from somewhere outside. Sebastian tensed, but kept his eyes on the cab. This was the most important job Jim had ever given him. He was not going to screw it up because he was jumpy. 

Watson got out of the cab and headed for the hospital. Sebastian took aim at his head, waiting. If he went inside, it was all over. But instead, he backed up and stared at the hospital roof. Sebastian glanced up and across the street. Sherlock was on the ledge again, on the phone, presumably talking to Watson. Jim was nowhere to be seen. Anxiety twisted in Sebastian’s gut, but he focused once more on the job.

Sherlock jumped. 

Sebastian texted the other two gunmen, ordering them to back off. 

Then he dialed Jim’s number. 

There was no answer. Jim always answered. 

Carefully, Sebastian took apart his gun and packed it back in the duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder, then went down the stairs as quickly as he could without attracting attention. He slipped outside and watched the chaos across the street where Sherlock’s body lay on the ground, surrounded by onlookers, hospital staff, and most notably, John Watson. Sebastian felt for the man. He’d survived the suicide of a loved one when he was in University, but he couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to watch it happen.

He shook his head clear and tried calling Jim again. Still no answer. He remembered the gunshot and made his way across to the hospital, slipping inside unnoticed by passerby. He walked to the stairwell that gave access to the roof, then took the stairs two at a time before bursting out onto the roof. 

Time seemed to slow down as he took in the scene. Jim was lying there, lifeless eyes staring at the sky and the contents of his skull splattered across the roof. In his limp hand was the gun he always carried with him. It was obvious that Jim had killed himself. 

Sebastian’s chest hurt. He took one painful breath, then another, and time started behaving normally again. There was still a job to be done. Someone was bound to find Jim’s body. Sebastian had to get his phone. If the police got their hands on it, everything Jim had worked for—had _died_ for—would be undone. Sebastian stepped carefully around the blood and brains. He couldn’t leave a trace of having been there. 

The phone was in Jim’s jacket pocket. Sebastian took it, tucked it into his duffel bag, and left. There was one more thing he had to get. 

 

* * *

 

He made it to Jim’s flat without incident. Jim’s laptop was on the desk where he’d left it. Sebastian would have to take that as well. He packed it carefully in the duffel, then took one last look around. 

This flat had been his home to him for two months. He’d been angry and happy here. He’d fallen in love here. The too-neat space seemed wrong somehow, as if it knew Jim would never come back. 

Sebastian would never come back either. 

He turned back to the door before he remembered the strange text Jim had sent him that morning. He hurried into the bedroom, jumped onto the bed, boots and all, and inspected the ceiling. There were recent fingerprints on the light fixture. He reached up and took hold of it, giving it an experimental twist. It moved easily, and he pulled it down to reveal a sizable hole in the ceiling, significantly bigger than what was needed for the wiring. He put his hand in the hole and felt around cautiously. His fingers brushed up against plastic. He took hold of it and brought it into the room so he could see what it was. 

It was an incendiary bomb, exactly the same homemade design as the one they’d smuggled into Scotland Yard. A harsh laugh escaped Sebastian. So that was where Jim had kept it: in the ceiling, above their bed. 

He put the bomb back and replaced the light. 

He sat on the bed for a minute, thinking. The numbers from the text would be used to activate the bomb. The flat and everything in it needed to be destroyed. The thought of all Jim’s personal items burning until there wasn’t a trace of him left brought back the sense of panic which Sebastian had been barely managing to keep a lid on. His hand found Jim’s pillow. Not everything had to burn. He took the pillow, shoved it into his bag, and left before he had time to change his mind. 

He was two streets away when he found the program on Jim’s phone to activate the bomb and punched in the numbers. The phone beeped cheerily, informing him that the sequence was correct, and he wanted to throw it into the street and watch as it was smashed to pieces by the cars. 

 

* * *

 

Sebastian disabled Dan’s security system and let himself into the flat. Dan was still elsewhere in Europe, but Sebastian couldn’t risk going back to Baker Street right now and he had nowhere else to go. He dropped his bag in the corner, sank down onto the sofa, and took a deep, ragged breath. 

Jim was dead. 

The thought echoed around in his head. He felt like he was going to be sick. 

Most of all, he didn’t want to be alone. 

He fumbled his phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial for Dan.

Dan answered on the first ring. “Mandel.”

“Jim’s dead,” Sebastian said quietly. 

There was a brief silence, then, “So, someone finally caught up with him?”

“Suicide,” was all Sebastian managed to say. His voice cracked, and his vision blurred as warm tears trailed down his face. It couldn’t be real, it just couldn’t. This couldn’t possibly be happening to him again. Jim was supposed to be _safe_.

“Where are you, Ian?” There was an urgency to Dan’s voice that Sebastian hadn’t heard in years. 

“Your place,” he choked out. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

“Good. That’s fine.” Dan paused. “I’m in Germany. I can be home in about four hours. Will you still be there when I get in?” 

“I don’t know. Probably. I don’t--I don’t know what to do.” Sebastian’s mind was reeling, and he couldn’t think. 

“Then just stay where you are. Put the security system back up. I’ll be there soon as I can, and we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” Sebastian said. He took a deep breath and tried to blink the tears from his eyes, but they wouldn’t stop coming. “I’ll put it up now. I’ll--” He couldn’t think. “I’ll wait here.”

“Alright. I’ve got a seat on the next plane over. Walk me through as you put the system back up, yeah?”

Sebastian did as he was asked, focusing all his attention on the task at hand and trying desperately not to think about Jim. He fumbled with the system a few times before he got it back up. “It’s good,” he said, turning to go back to the sofa. His foot nudged his duffel bag, still on the floor where he’d dropped it. He stared at it, and suddenly it hit him that everything that was left of Jim was in that bag. The weight of reality crashed down upon him, and he struggled to breathe through the sobs that shook him. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say. “I can’t--I have to go.”

“Okay, Ian. Call me back later if you want to- I’ll answer unless I’m on the plane. I’ll be there shortly.”

Sebastian couldn’t say anything else, so he simply ended the call. In a sort of daze, he pulled the pillow he’d taken from their flat out of his bag and clutched it to his chest, waiting desperately for the numbness that he’d experienced before, all those years ago. It never came.

* * *

 

_If there was ever a thing Jim Moriarty was best at, it was surprises, and his death was the most gruesome surprise of all._


	28. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited and unbeta'd.

It was two in the morning when John Watson found Sebastian Morán, drunk and grieving, perched precariously on the edge of a bridge over the Thames. Despite John’s need for these solitary wanderings to battle the insomnia that had become his constant companion over the last year, he could not shut off his doctor’s instinct. When he looked at Sebastian sitting there, he saw a broken man exhibiting signs of suicidal tendencies. He saw it in the careless way Sebastian wobbled drunkenly over the water, in the determined expression on his tear-stained face, and in the deep circles under his eyes. John could not in good conscience pass him by.

“Hey mate,” he called. “You alright there? Need a cab home?”

“I’m having a moment here,” Sebastian said angrily as he twisted around to glare at John. “So how about you go and—“ He caught sight of John’s face and just stopped. For a long moment, he stared in surprise, then his face broke into a grin and he laughed. “You’re John Watson.”

John groaned. He hated being recognized by strangers, but he couldn’t let his displeasure deter him. He tightened his grip on his cane and said, “Yes, you’ve got me. And you are?”

“Morán. Sebastian Morán.” Sebastian grinned stupidly and pointed at John, hand curled as if holding an invisible handgun. “I pointed a sniper rifle at your head once.”

Instantly, John shifted from the role of doctor to that of soldier. He strightened his spine, quashed his concern, and searched for any sign of a weapon hidden under Sebastian’s jeans or jacket.

Sebastian recognized the evaluating look and let out another laugh. “I’m not armed. Takes all the fun out of life, being armed against your enemies.” That added another thing to the “suicidal” list in John’s head. 

Slowly, the memory resurfaced, slipping out of the locked box that contained all the memory of those last, terrible days with Sherlock. “You were one of the assassins after the computer code,” he said.

“Is that what you thought? I always wondered why he wanted me to be seen. Shoot anyone who touched Sherlock, sure. Could’ve done that and been gone and no one the wiser. But he wanted me seen— God was that his way of protecting me? Telling the world I was his client, not his gunman?” Sebastian seemed to have forgotten John was there. He rubbed his face and tilted his head back to look at the stars. “Fat lot of good that did, you bloody moron. What’s the point, without you? It wasn’t even kindness, was it? You just wanted to keep me around.” His voice cracked and he wiped viciously at his eyes. 

John glared at him. “You worked for Moriarty, then.”

Sebastian lowered his gaze from the sky back to John’s face. “Worked for him? I lived with him. Oh, don’t look so surprised. We’ve a lot in common, you and I.”

“We’re nothing alike,” John said tersely. 

“Don’t take that high and mighty tone with me,” Sebastian said bitterly. “Yours wasn’t the only genius to off himself that day.”

John was taken aback. “It was Moriarty’s fault,” he said coldly. 

“Do you think that makes it any less painful? At least yours had the courtesy to tell you goodbye.”

The horrifying memory of that final phone call resurfaced, and John fought for control of his breathing. “God, no, _that_ was most definitely not a courtesy.” A thought occurred to him. “And stop calling him mine. He wasn’t. We weren’t a couple.”

Sebastian just chuckled sadly. John studied him carefully. “Oh god, _you_ were.”

“That would have been something,” Sebastian said. He looked out over the river, watched the glow of street lamps reflect off the ripples and waves. “No, I was just a distraction for Jim. He never cared about me, except in that he wanted to keep me.” He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and drew out a silver flask. Gazing at it with a mixture of sadness and fondness, he said, “Understand one thing, Watson. You may have meant more to Sherlock than I did to Jim, but dammit, Jim was more to me than Sherlock ever was to you. Don’t you dare belittle my grief.” He twisted the top off the flask, lifted it to his lips and drank deeply. Then he grinned at John, lifting the flask as in a salute. “I admire you, Watson. You’re a real survivor. Keep it up. I may need someone to put me out of my misery one of these days.”

Sebastian turned back to the river, having dismissed John from his thoughts. John, however, wasn’t done. “There’s something I never understood,” he said, stepping closer to Sebastian, carrying his cane rather than leaning on it. “Why did Moriarty kill himself? He’d won, hadn’t he?”

Sebastian took another drink before turning his head just enough to look at John out of the corner of his eye. “Probably to make sure Sherlock would jump. I reckon Sherlock thought he could save you if he had Jim.”

John frowned, the wrinkles in his brow deepening. “Save me?” he prompted.

“Well, I _did_ have a sniper rifle pointed at your head, with orders to shoot if he didn’t jump,” Sebastian said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“The bloody liar,” John breathed. “And he said heroes don’t exist.”

Sebastian ignored him. John watched Sebastian for a while, uncertain of what to do. Eventually, he decided to continue his walk. There was nothing more to say, and he wasn’t sure he could stand to be in the presence of someone directly responsible for Sherlock’s death much longer. It crossed his mind to simply pull out his gun and shoot Sebastian then and there, but one look at the man told John that his misery was punishment enough. 

It was two thirty in the morning, one year after London saw the deaths of two geniuses, and John Watson let Sebastian Morán live.


End file.
